


Experimental

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Romance, I'm so sorry, M/M, i think, it gon be stickaaay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a mission gone wrong, Jazz finds himself on the receiving end of Shockwaves latest experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

** Units of time as I use them: **

**Klick – a second**

**Breem – a minute**

**Joor – an hour**

**Cycle – a day**

**Decacycle – 10 days**

**Groon – a month**

**Orn – a decade**

**Vorn – a century**

{bond chatter}

::Comm. chatter::

* * *

Jealous was not usually a word Jazz used to describe himself, but at the moment that was what he was.

He played with the pen in between his fingers; twirling it and spinning it as he only partially listened to Mirage present the information he had collected in his latest mission. Jazz knew it off by heart, the spy having given it to Jazz before in it’s unrefined and uncensored glory. Anything that the pair deemed unnecessary to bring up at the officers meeting was left out – they’d bring it up with Optimus and possibly Prowl later if they wanted to look into it.

Jazz quietly sighed to himself as he looked across the table at the Praxian, who was sitting straight and watching Mirage with rapt attention. Quite the difference to Jazz, who was sitting hunched over the table and fiddling with his pen. He quietly swore as he accidentally knocked the top of it off, screwing it back on again and putting it back down as he hoped nobody saw.

Glancing up to see Prowl giving him a disapproving look made Jazz realise that he was not as discreet as he had originally thought.

Anyway. Jealous.

Why? Jazz himself was reluctant to admit it, but every time he saw Bluestreak run up to Prowl and interact with him, the feeling would latch onto his spark and twist it in ways Jazz was not comfortable with. He’d always find some excuse to leave the room so he wouldn’t act upon those feelings, and whether or not others were catching onto this Jazz didn’t know. If he stayed, he’d see Prowl listen to him with the same rapt attention he was giving to Mirage, and he’d never stop him or talk over him. He’d respond and act genuinely interested – and it was something he didn’t do with Jazz anymore.

Safe to say that was why Jazz was feeling jealous.

Prowl never allowed Jazz to run up to him, always scolding him after for acting in a way unbecoming for an Officer.

Prowl let Bluestreak get away with a lot. Bluestreak was allowed to visit him whenever he wanted, even during the recharge cycle when it was not uncommon for Bluestreak to fall asleep on Prowls berth, and had access to both his office and his quarters. Bluestreak was always welcome to comm Prowl, to visit Prowl, to drag him out of his office to refuel and recharge… everything, really. He never got angry.

But he’d often lose his temper with Jazz, sending him away. If Jazz didn’t leave then he’d be recipient of a verbal lashing, which would always end with Jazz storming out.

And he just didn’t know why.

* * *

 

Jazz swaggered out of Optimus’s office with a huge grin plastered on his face. Suceess! He’d been granted permission to take himself and Mirage on an infiltration mission at the Decepticons base. As it turned out, Mirage had found some juicy info on their current activities, and they’d need to keep an eye on their spacebridge and see if they had any other plans brewing.

He quickly commed Mirage asking him to meet him in his office to brief him before they left. Prowl had been the one to plan the infiltration, and he had given it a success rate of 87%. High enough for Prowl to accept it, and low enough for Jazz to feel a lot of wriggle room. Fantastic.

The fact Prowl was not present there like he usually would have been made Jazz internally frown, but he quickly brushed it off. Whatever. It wasn’t as if he needed Prowl to hold his hand.

Not that he would have minded.

Before his thoughts continued on in _that_ particular tangent, Jazz sat down on the edge of his desk and swung his legs as he waited for Mirage.

While Mirage was nowhere near as precise as Prowl was, he was true to his word and arrived very quickly.

“Sir?” He asked as he slid into a seat opposite the desk. Jazz handed him a datapad.

“Boss Bot gives the all clear. We leave in four hours, better get ya stuff together hmm?”

* * *

 

The first thing Jazz thought as he wriggled through a vent was that the Decepticons _really_ needed to work on their house keeping.

A thick layer of dust caked his paint, and rust was slowly eating away at the metal. A dark, tawny brown powder was flaking from them as he went past.

Now, they were underwater, but _really_?  You’d have thought they’d keep their ventilation shafts in good shape.

Jazz stifled a laugh as he thought of what Mirage would think to this. It wouldn’t do to be caught because he was laughing.

Besides, chances were, Mirage had hopped out at first opportunity and activated his invisibility shield. He treasured his appearance like he would his firstborn child.

Jazz froze when the ventilation shaft creaked, giving a daunting cracking sound as he found himself on a particularly weak section. He could wriggle back and try to find another way to go, or he could continue forwards and risk it breaking and blowing his cover.

Deciding to continue forwards, Jazz carefully crept onwards. His job description was danger – if it happened it happened and he’d just have to try and wriggle his way out of it.

Bad idea.

There was a loud creaking noise before the sound of splintering metal reached him, and before he knew it the bottom of the vent had given way and Jazz was dropping.

The floor came before Jazz could activate his magnets to keep him in place or to stop his fall, and it came hard. Jazz could have sworn his neck had snapped backwards with the force of his impact, but it was probably just his imagination.

All he knew was that it was going to ache in the morning.

He groggily got up, shaking the static from his helm and took in his surroundings. Lucky for him, it was an empty room that only had crates in it. He popped one open to see it loaded with ammunition.

But unknown to him, he was not alone.

Ravage sat perched atop one of the boxes, lazily peering down to see who had disturbed her nap. Upon seeing the Autobot Third in Command, she immediately arched her back and began snarling at him, jumping down from her perch and onto Jazz himself.

“Wha’ the frag-!” Jazz yelped, arms immediately coming up to throw whatever had latched onto him off. If only it weren’t for claws. They dug into his plating, anchoring the livid cat to his body.

Ravage was very, very bad news. She meant Soundwave, and Soundwave meant pain and humiliation.

Well, his cover was blown. Most definitely blown.

Jazz hoped that Mirage hadn’t been caught either. They were on a comm silence, so sending him a ping to make sure he was okay was out of the question. Soundwave would detect it, and then Mirage would most definitely be compromised if he hadn’t been already.

“Ravage: desist.”

The cassette immediately returned to her masters’ pedes, licking her claws clean before she retracted them. She gave Jazz a smug look. _We’ve got you now_.

Jazz had one moment of clear thought before Soundwave released a signal that knocked him offline.

* * *

 

Judging from how he was alone, Jazz presumed that Mirage was yet to have been captured.

Great, nobody to natter away to.

His chronometer was damaged, so Jazz had no way to tell how long he had been there for. The energon that was caked around his shoulder was dry and beginning to flake off. He couldn’t move, hands bound behind him with stasis cuffs. If he were anywhere else he would have commented on how kinky this situation was, but given he was in the Decepticon base he refrained. Nah, he was scared.

What were they planning? Jazz knew what was coming – torture that would leave you begging for death, something to end it and stop the misery. And would they give it to you? No, absolutely not. The more you wanted death the more information you gave to find it faster.

Decepticons didn’t stop until they had squeezed everything out of you.

But at the back of his mind, Jazz knew that Prowl would be planning _something_ to get him out. He always did.

Unless he didn’t know.

Swallowing hard, Jazz’s mind was working to find some way to get out. His comm device was down – thanks to Soundwave, no doubt – so sending a message was a no-go. He had no siblings within range, so using their sibling bonds would be impossible. Besides, how would they get into contact with the Autobot base? The message would arrive too late. Jazz himself was not a bonded mech either – that was _suicide_ in his line of work – so he was well and truly alone.

He thought.

“Jazz.”

A whisper to his left made him jump. He couldn’t see anyone there, which meant…

‘’Raj?”

“Sit still, I’ll get you out.”

Jazz complied, the feeling in his arms coming back as the cuffs were deactivated and removed. Rubbing his wrists, Jazz nodded to where he thought Mirage was. “Thanks. What now?”

“We can wait until the guards come in and open the door, or we can break ourselves out.” Mirage replied. Jazz mulled over it in his head for a few moments.

“Have ya got any info?”

“Just one bit I think you should know.”

“An’ that is?”

“Shockwave’s here.”

Jazz’s fists clenched as his jaw set. Shockwave. He _hated_ him – no, hate was too weak a word. He _despised_ him.

Nobody knew why, but Jazz preferred it that way.

“Don’t engage him, Jazz.” Mirage warned, feeling Jazz’s field abruptly change. “I know you’ve got history with him, but you shouldn’t let your anger get the better of you. We should get the information and go.”

“So long as Ah don’t see him.” Jazz replied, sitting down onto the floor. “Ah’ll minimize that chance by takin’ out the guards when they come.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Mirage replied, and Jazz heard him walk towards the door.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

What was taking them so long? Jazz knew that he was quite a big catch – Third in Command and Head of Special Operations, woohie. Put _that_ down on your CV! So surely they’d like to get started on him as soon as possible?

Apparently not, and Jazz found out the reason why almost a cycle after he’d first onlined in the grotty cell.

Shockwave had wanted to see him. Personally.

Jazz snarled as he leapt to his feet, Mirage scrambling to activate his invisibility shield before he was noticed, feeling embarrassed that he’d been caught out. Mirages words echoed in his head – do not engage, _do not engage_ …

The single red optic bore into him, staring at him in distaste.

And a large hand reached forwards, grabbing Jazz by the neck before lifting him and carrying him out, Mirage quickly moving to follow. Jazz hissed and wriggled like an enraged animal, scratching at Shockwave’s hand with his clawed digits as he choked for air. Mirage had always found it strange that an Autobot had been equipped with those, but he decided it wasn’t his place to judge.

The door nearly slammed shut on Mirage, and it was only him quickly leaping forwards that stopped it. He was torn – give himself away and help Jazz, or watch and see what information he could gain first? Knowing Shockwaves intentions here was his first priority.

So it was with great reluctance that Mirage trailed behind the pair, Jazz’s movements becoming more frantic as fear bubbled up inside of him.

* * *

 

“We have your Third in Command.”

Optimus frowned at the screen. It was not the usual video message Megatron used to gloat with, and it was not Megatrons voice either. It was Shockwaves.

Why would Shockwave be contacting them? Wasn’t he on Cybertron?

What was Jazz even _doing_ over there?

Unless Shockwave had decided to pay Earth a visit.

But right now, none of that mattered. They had Jazz and they had to get him back.

He quickly called an officers meeting. Prowl attending was a no brainer – he was his Chief Tactician, and his Second in Command. Ironhide and Ratchet were also summoned. Optimus retracted his mask to pinch the bridge of his nose, a habit he had picked up from the humans.

This was going to be a long night.

Prowl was the first to arrive, punctual as ever. If he noticed Optimus’ moment of weakness, he didn’t comment on it. He did, however, express his concern over the Primes wellbeing.

“I am fine, Prowl. It’s Jazz I’m more worried about.”

At the mention of Jazz Prowls wings immediately shot up in what Optimus recognized as panic.

“Jazz?”

Ironhide and Ratchet arrived and quickly entered, locking the door behind them.

Optimus nodded to them before clearing his intake.

“I received this message a joor ago, from the Decepticons.

He pressed a key on his keyboard and let the message play. The usually stoic tactician’s optics widened and his doorwings trembled slightly before quickly stilling. Ratchet frowned, clearly worried for his friend while Ironhide looked moments away from a fit of anger.

“We’ve gotta get him!” Ironhide immediately shouted, his fist punching down into the palm of his hand.

“Calm down, Ironhide. We will.” Ratchet replied, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. “Optimus, what do you suggest we do?”

“We go in and we get him out of there.” He responded firmly. He remembered the other times Jazz had been captured and the injuries he had sustained – he didn’t wish that upon his friend for another moment. “Prowl, what’s the fastest time you can get a plan?”

“With all the variables available, a cycle at most. Now that Shockwave’s here, it may be harder.”

Optimus nodded. Shockwave was a formidable opponent, and knowing that Jazz was his captive? Even more so. “Very well. Do not let the crew know. What happens in this room stays in this room, are we clear?”

There was a chorus of ‘yes sir’s and Optimus nodded. “The three of you, work together on this. I want Jazz back with us as soon as possible.”

The three gave their affirmatives before they were dismissed. Optimus sat down heavily in his chair. He trusted Prowl to get the job done, but he couldn’t help a foreboding feeling. The Prime had noticed that interaction between his Second in Command and his Third in Command had recently become strained, the two always getting into arguments or avoiding each other. This was no good for morale, and it was making him worry. What did this mean for their friendship? He remembered them being incredibly close before the war and even after it started. Had they argued and made blows they simply couldn’t recover from?

Optimus added it to his list of things to investigate. Curiosity was nibbling at him already.

* * *

 

Ravage purred as her master petted her helm.

Soundwave sat at the console, Ravage on his lap as typed away while Shockwave stood behind him with his back facing him, hands busy with whatever it was on the table before him. Jazz was offline and strapped to a berth on the other side of the room, helm open and exposing the circuits within.

None of them were aware Mirage was in the room, barely holding back from purging his tanks.

How could they be so relaxed about this? About the life of another? Mirage was desperate to stop them, but he knew it was pointless. Soundwave had all of his brats tucked away in his chest or sitting on his lap like some kind of pet, and Shockwave himself was enough of a deterrent. Besides, with Jazz’s helm open like it was, Mirage simply couldn’t risk it.

So he had to stay and hope there was some way he could escape and get the Autobots here faster.

Mirage settled on lurking around behind Soundwave, being careful to not get too close, and take a peek at what he was doing.

Schematics covered the screen, line after line of code writing itself down the side. The mech in question was Jazz, and Mirage was amazed at just how much information they had on him. Granted, some of it was out of date (he didn’t have a silver paint job anymore, for starters) but it was definitely Jazz.

Why would they have this?

Where did they get it?

The more Mirage looked the more questions he had and the less answers he was getting.

He couldn’t crash, not here, so he stole away and took a look at what Shockwave was building.

It was a small circuit board, small enough that Shockwave required magnifying lenses in order to see it, and he was making tiny, minute adjustments to it. Frowning, Mirage crept over to Jazz and took a peek inside his head.

That circuit was there.

Why was Shockwave building another? Was he modeling it after Jazz’s? What for? As far as Mirage knew, it didn’t dictate anything important.

He glanced down and started as he realized that his visor was broken, half of it smashed off. Mirage had never seen Jazz’s optics, and it was general knowledge that he didn’t have them.

Apparently that was not the case, as he was looking at them now.

And he felt sick.

They were branded, and any noble would know what that meant. Only the lowest of the low, the slave caste were ever branded across their optics. It was the first place others looked during a conversation, and it was the best way to get the message across: I am a slave, I am owned. The side of his visor that still remained covered the side that would have the family emblem, and Mirage could only hope that it was not his family. He wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if it was, Jazz had to see him every day…

A thought suddenly struck.

Neither Soundwave nor Shockwave seemed to be phased in the slightest that Jazz had the brandings over his optics. In fact, Mirage hadn’t noticed any change in their behavior at all – had they already known? Maybe this was why they owned the schematics – they’d come across Jazz while he was still tied down into that caste.

A sickening, dark feeling curled around in his chest. If they had been the ones to own him…

Before Mirage knew it, the barrel of a gun had been trained at his chest. Looking down, he realized that his invisibility shield had dropped.

Oh, _slag_.

* * *

 

Prowl ignored the weird looks he got as he presented the plan to Optimus. Ironhide and Ratchet shared a look of contemplation as they realized that this was the most expressive they’d seen Prowl in… well, forever. Optimus had to keep a professional attitude and focused on the plan, but that didn’t mean he missed it either.

Once the meeting was over and Ironhide left to round up the mechs they’d selected, Optimus quickly pulled Prowl aside before he could escape.

“Are you okay?” He asked, lowering his voice so it couldn’t be heard through the open door. “You seem quite distressed.”

“I am fine.” Prowl replied tightly. “The mission was given a 85% success rating.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re worried about something.”

Prowl’s optics widening slightly were the only indication Prowl gave at being surprised. Had he really been that transparent? “That I am, however I do not believe it to be of importance.”

“I understand Jazz is your friend. We’ll be trying our best to get him back.”

“O-of course, sir.” Prowl replied, doorwings tilting in acknowledgement. “I expected no different.”

Knowing that the conversation he wanted to have could not happen with his door wide open, Optimus nodded and allowed Prowl to leave. It would have to wait.

It would most likely be best to wait until the mission was over and Jazz was safely back at base, when tension would not be high. Primus knew Prowl had enough on his plate as it was.

* * *

 

Eye ridges were raised as Prowl insisted he be included in the rescue mission. His reasoning was that as there were many unknowns, it would be best if there were a tactician present to make the needed changes to deal with anything they came across. It was odd, considering Smokescreen had been drafted and was a tactician himself, but nobody was brave enough to raise it with a Prowl on edge. His temper was explosive at best.

Getting into the base was tricky, but they managed it by exploiting the vents in the same way Mirage and Jazz had. There was a small group of five of them, and they split off into two groups – one with Prowl and Hound, and another with Smokescreen, Bumblebee, and Sideswipe.

There was a faint sound that nobody could work out what it was. It was high pitched and hitched quite a lot. It never lulled.

Prowl and Hound decided to investigate the sound while the other three had been sent off to search the brig. It would be a quick get in get out mission, they weren’t planning on staying.

“Unfortunately, I do not know where Mirage is.” Prowl whispered to Hound as they crept through the base, Prowl living up to his name while Hound relied on his senses to keep them undetected. “We can only hope that he too was not captured.”

Hound nodded.

Finding the source of the sound was easy enough – it seemed to echo from below them, a fact that registered in Prowl’s mind as being from one of the interrogation rooms.

That fact did not settle too easily with him, as it meant it was likely to mean Jazz was involved.

Still, he had to stay professional, so without a second thought he dropped down to the next level with Hound in tow.

Shockwave remained oblivious to the intruders, as did Soundwave.

Soundwave had left a few joor ago for his shift at the communications centre, leaving Shockwave alone to continue his work.

Jazz was now awake, and he was almost certain the entire base knew.

His helm _hurt_. It felt as though someone was shoving a white-hot rod straight through his helm, barbs twisting and turning and shredding his insides. He felt as though he were melting, his body far hotter than its limits and turning his delicate circuits to molten metal. Arms and legs still bound, all he could do was bow off the berth and _scream_. Jazz wasn’t even aware his vents were hiccupping as coolant ran down his face, nor was he aware of the taste of energon in his mouth as he screamed his intake raw.

Mirage could only sit and watch, magnetically attached to the wall and inhibited by stasis cuffs. Soundwave had deactivated his vocalizer.

The closer Prowl got, the more he realized that it wasn’t just a random sound – it was someone screaming. They sounded like they were in absolute agony and sobbing.

 _Please don’t be Jazz, please don’t be Jazz…_ It played like a mantra in his head. He’d been awful to him as of late.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head – they were not needed here – Prowl pushed on. He had to get Jazz out.

The pair dropped down onto another floor that had dried energon splattered onto the walls and scratch marks from where something, or someone, had been dragged down, their fingers leaving gouges in the metal floor. Prowl dropped to one knee to inspect it. They were caused by blunt fingers – it wasn’t Jazz. He barely suppressed his sigh of relief.

“Sir, I think that’s Jazz.” Hound quietly said, voice wavering towards the end. Prowl’s doorwings went down. He had been trying so hard to deny it…

But it did sound like Jazz.

“I suspected as much.” Prowl replied, checking the ammo in his gun. “It’s likely that he’s guarded. First, we get the door open then trick the guard away with a hologram. Hide us and have a hologram of us run away, clear?”

“Crystal.” Hound replied, making sure his own gun was loaded.

A firm pede to the door kicked it straight off its hinges, and the first thing they saw was Shockwave standing over Jazz with a laser scalpel in hand.

Before either Prowl or Hound had registered it, Prowl had fired his gun and knocked it straight out of Shockwaves hand.

But they had a plan, and Prowl intended to stick to it.

Hound quickly formed a hologram as they both ducked to hide either side of the door, disguising them as part of the wall. He then formed holographic versions of himself and Prowl slowly backing away, taunting Shockwave into following them before running away when the purple mech fell for it.

They both waited until he was out of sight before they quickly entered the room.

Guilty. Prowl felt guilty.

Jazz was still screaming, coolant still poured down his face as his vents hiccupped and hitched. Energon was splattered across his face and dribbling from his mouth and down his chin. There were burns on his chest from where Shockwave had begun to cut him open with a laser scalpel.

Prowl was furious. And confused. And terrified.

What was wrong with Jazz?

“Jazz!” He tried, reaching out to touch him before quickly flinching and tearing his hand away. He was scorching hot. Prowl tentatively tried again, knowing what was coming this time. “Jazz, please!”

While Prowl was trying to get Jazz to calm down and respond, Hound had begun trying to get Mirage off the wall and removing the vocal inhibitor that was strapped to his throat.

“’Raj, what happened?”

“I-I don’t know. Shockwave just put something in his head and he just started _screaming_. Nothing they did could stop it, and they stuck me here to stop me from doing anything.” Mirage replied, guilt bleeding into his voice. “I’m sorry, Hound. I couldn’t do anything.”

Jazz was starting to calm down and had stopped screaming. He was still whimpering, body twitching and convulsing as he released sounds of pain. Better yet, his visor was starting to flicker, signaling Jazz attempting to online it.

“Jazz! Jazz, look at me.” Prowl said, quickly reaching Jazz’s face and gently placing his hand on the side of it. Both Mirage and Hound felt the need to look away, as if they were interrupting a private moment. Mirage knew of the… _feelings_ Jazz held for Prowl, and as a general rule Hound did too. The two were terrible at keeping secrets from the other. What remained of Jazz’s visor slowly onlined as Prowl quickly undid the bindings on his arms and legs.

“Prowl?” Jazz asked, optics blearily looking around. Everything was a blur, colours and shapes blending together.

“I’m here.” Prowl replied, immediately returning to his previous position of his hand on the side of Jazz’s helm. “We’re going to get you out, okay?”

Jazz was silent for a moment while his optics focused on the black and white blurr in front of him. When Prowls voice registered and he slowly came into view, Jazz couldn’t stop the wave of excitement that tore through him.

Prowl! It was Prowl!

The thought of this being a bad idea was promptly ignored as Jazz threw himself at Prowl, arms wrapping around his neck. He trembled and shook, still in a huge amount of pain that was oh so slowly ebbing away.

Mirage sent Hound a knowing grin that was completely missed by the pair of black and whites.

“It hurts” Jazz whimpered, curling in closer to Prowl as another wave of pain crashed over him.

“I know, we’ll get you back, okay? Ratchet will help you.”

Jazz weakly managed a nod. Whatever Prowl said happened, and Jazz was still willing to place his trust in him. The animosity that had suddenly sprouted between them seemed to have faded, for now at least, and remained forgotten as Prowl gently hefted Jazz into his arms and began to carry him through the base.

Hound and Mirage shared a look before making to follow, watching the pairs back. A siren suddenly began blaring, a red light flashing in the halls. They’d been rumbled, Shockwave had managed to get word out.

“Just how far did you take him?” Prowl asked Hound.

“Not too far, I took him back the way we’d came. Looks like he had wanted the glory for himself.” Hound replied with a shrug. He paused, looking at where Jazz’s helm was. There was a trail of energon still dripping from his mouth and onto Prowls back. How was he not noticing this? Prowl caught Hounds optic and looked down, doorwing twitching. Oh, he had noticed. But at the moment he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Where were the other three?

“Mirage, scout ahead. Find the others. It’s likely Soundwave has disabled communications, so don’t count on being able to contact them that way. They went to the brig, they couldn’t have gotten far.”

Mirage silently activated his invisibility shields before stealing away, his pedefalls almost silent as he went ahead.

“Hound, see if you can set up a hologram to hide us. We have to try and remain hidden.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Hound replied.

* * *

Optimus sat at his desk back at the Autobot base, the orange walls of the Ark seemingly suffocating. He was anxious. The five that had gone in hadn’t made contact since they had set out, and while the Prime had faith in them he was still worried.

What was taking them so long?

Resorting to pacing, Optimus was almost certain that he was going to wear a hole into the floor.

His saving grace was a somewhat breathless comm, call from Prowl.

::We have Jazz::


	2. Chapter two

Despite Jazz being safely tucked away into the medical bay, Prowl was not happy.

That had been easy. Way too easy.

Shockwave would have _never_ fallen for a trick like that the way he did. It was unsettling to say the least. What was he planning?

The simple fact that the casualty list was so small was something Ratchet counted as a blessing and something Prowl counted as a trap.

And he had walked straight into it.

Shockwave simply didn’t allow his prey to escape. He had to have had ulterior motives for this. Something was not right, and Prowl did not like this one little bit.

A terrible thought crossed his mind. What if he had done something to Jazz and they'd brought a huge security risk straight into the base?

A comm line to Ratchet was quickly established.

::Ratchet, Jazz needs to be secluded::

::Hello to you too, Prowl. Jazz is. I'm not risking anything::

Prowl sighed in relief. Trust their medic to have thought ahead. Was he really that stressed out? ::Thank you, Ratchet:: Prowl replied before ending the call. Wincing, Prowl realised that Jazz was right - he really did need to work on his etiquette.

He realised he was pacing again and promptly stopped himself. Talking a calming breath, Prowl tried to reason with himself.

Jazz would be okay. Whatever they did, he had been through worse and had always pulled through. Ratchet could bitch all he liked but he still got the job done.

But Jazz had never clung to Prowl like that and he could still feel the way he had trembled and quaked in his hold-

Groaning, Prowl massaged his forehelm. It had reminded him of Bluestreak after a bad memory flux, and the urge to protect Jazz had bubbled up out of nowhere. Prowl didn't care that he had an audience, all that had mattered was getting Jazz away and back home.

Damn, but he hated those instincts sometimes. Not only was it embarrassing to deal with the teasing after, but it was what got rumours started. He was somewhat glad that his brother Smokescreen nor Bumblebee nor, Primus forbid, Sideswipe saw that. By the time they'd been reunited Jazz appeared to have come to his senses and was instead simply being supported by Prowl and Hound as he walked, movements and balance still shaky. He wouldn't admit it aloud, not even to himself, but Prowl silently lamented the loss.

And he didn't quite know why.

Yes, Jazz was important to him, but Prowl was under the impression that it was simply as a friend and he was keen to leave it at that lest he ruined what they had. Recent events, however, lead him to believe that it may not be the case.

It was a fact that honestly scared him.

He was top of the hit list: a dangerous mech to be with beyond a professional capacity. If anyone were to become a target simply because of his status, he would never forgive himself. He couldn't become attached to anyone, it would only end in disaster.

And yet, he had allowed it to happen.

Prowl was getting soft and he knew it. Pushing the others away was an option, but was he really willing to take it?

* * *

Ratchet was not too happy with the injuries that had wracked up.

Sideswipe had ended up having to stay in his medical bay, which meant Sunstreaker was also glued to his side. This annoyed Ratchet, which meant a wrench to the helm and an appointment to get the dent popped out when Ratchet had calmed down enough to not give him another one.

Which he did, not even five minutes later.

Smokescreen had dislocated a door wing, and Bumblebee his knee. A potshot had hit Mirage whilst he was cloaked.

Hound and Prowl were the only to escape relatively unscathed.

Jazz, on the other hand, was another matter.

Melted and burned circuits. Blown resistors and motherboards. Energon leakages. And the cherry on top, a smashed visor.

_Excellent_.

The weird marking on his optic was bothering him, however. Jazz usually refused to show his optics and Ratchet had long since stopped asking. To see it now felt like he was violating that trust, but he had a strange compulsion to find out what was wrong and fix Jazz.

He had mostly repaired the internal damage thanks to his ever-helpful staff, and Jazz's face had remained covered. Now it was just himself and Jazz in a private room, it was uncovered and he wondered what he should do.

A mock up visor had been made, and the smashed one removed. Ratchet would need a bit of time to remake the visor - it wasn't a simple piece of machinery to say the least - and he had seen a different design on the other optic. This did not settle him in the slightest as the realisation dawned on him.

Jazz was slave caste.

It made Ratchet angry. Not that Jazz had lied - he did not blame him for that, for Ratchet knew that anyone would - but that someone would willingly brand another across their optics, to humiliate them.

It made him feel sick.

There was only one caste that held slaves, and that was the Noble caste. Ratchet could think of one mech who would recognize the symbols branded upon his TIC’s face.

* * *

It felt like his helm was underwater.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, audio reaching him faster than his optics could process what he was seeing. He still felt unbearably hot, but it was nowhere near as agonizing as before. His outermost extremities stung and itched, but it was easy to ignore. Besides, as it was he couldn’t move. Everything felt heavy, as though it were made of lead.

He could vaguely hear Mirage and Ratchet talking about something from across the room. Or were they next to him? It did sound muffled – maybe outside?

Jazz wanted to sit up, but his body simply wasn’t cooperating.

Ratchets voice became much more prominent, and his shoulder bloomed in pain when a hand made contact with it. He couldn’t stop the sudden jerk and hiss that tore from his throat. It felt as though he’d been shot.

All audio suddenly came rushing towards him, clear as ever, and his visor finally focused.

Mirage, standing by the door and looking worried, a look that was usually reserved for his paint job or Hound. Ratchet standing next to him, hand hovering over him.

“Jazz, are you alright?” He asked, deciding to place his hand on the edge of the berth instead.

“Did ya _shoot_ me?” Jazz groaned, finding that he was not as heavy as he was before and could lift his hand, placing it on his shoulder. It stung a little, but it didn’t feel like a gunshot.

“Nearly did.” Ratchet dryly corrected. He made a few notes on a datapad. “How are you feeling?”

“Like Ah’m coolin’ off after a dip in a smeltin’ pit.”

“Understandable. You were half melted.”

“Oh, joy.”

“For now, you’re staying on berth rest and I’m keeping you in here until I can find out what Shockwave put in that helm of yours.” Ratchet continued as if Jazz had never spoken. “You can have visitors, but don’t stress yourself too much. I want you sleeping.”

At the mention of Shockwave, Jazz suddenly sat up. “Ya mean ya don’t know?”

Jazz wouldn’t have put it past him to have put a bomb in his helm, the mech was batshit crazy. Like he cared about his test subjects – so long as you survived and gave results you were allowed to live. The moment you stopped was the moment you were slaughtered. Nothing like firsthand experience.

Jazz stopped that train of thought there and then. It wasn’t like that anymore… was it?

The fact he had something foreign in his head once more told him that maybe it was.

“No, I don’t.” Ratchet confirmed. “I’m going to be needing a specialist in processors before I can start poking around.”

“An’ where are we gunna be getting’ one a those?” Jazz asked, frowning. Whatever was in his head, he wanted it gone and he wanted it gone now.

“A groon from now. We received a message from an inbound ship.”

“Autobot?” Mirage asked, reminding the pair that he was still in the room. Ratchet was the first to compose himself and nodded.

“We’re hoping the Decepticons didn’t catch wind of it too. It’s got a lot of friends of ours on board.”

“Don’t say anythin’ else like that around me.” Jazz suddenly ordered. Two pairs of optics focused on him. “Ya don’t know what’s in ma head. Could be anythin’, an’ it could be communicating with the Decepticons base like a wire tap.”

“That… that _is_ true.” Mirage confirmed, “It’s something they’ve attempted before.”

Ratchet just grunted. “Fine, no gossip for Jazz.”

Jazz balked at that. No gossip! He’d be out of the loop! It wasn’t just Special Ops coding protesting at this – it was his own natural (and rather annoying) curiosity too! “Not even a little?” He asked, putting his hands together in a pleading gesture.

“Well if you want a list of who’s sleeping with who-“ Ratchet began, pulling another datapad from his subspace. Mirage’s jaw dropped and he gave Ratchet a disbelieving look, while Jazz just whimpered.

“Don’t tease me, doc!”

“Why do you even _have_ such a list!?” Mirage squeaked, a sound very unbecoming of a noble. “That’s unprofessional!”

“It helps with repairs.” Ratchet shrugged, subspacing it again. “So I know who to expect.” He quickly clarified at the pairs of horrified looks he received. “Also helps with organizing the beds, finding help and such.”

Mirage still looked uneasy, but appeared to accept it all the same.

"Now, if you haven't got any other reason to be here, get the frag out." Ratchet pointed towards the door with his thumb. Mirage was quick to make himself scarce, knowing the medics temper. "Jazz, be honest. What happened there?"

"Ah was unconscious for most of it. The most Ah remember is being knocked out in the lab and waking up to feelin' as if Ah was being burned alive."

"Prowls report states that you were conscious enough to walk with the help of support for some time."

"That's true." Jazz acknowledged. "Ah did walk outta there, didn' Ah?"

"Very surprising, given your injuries. Many vital circuits were either scorched or warped, the more delicate ones melted. Overheated coolant, boiling energon, a damaged vocaliser, a broken visor-"

Ratchet continued on with the list, but Jazz's intakes hitched at broken visor.

Oh, _fuck_. The human curse was the only thing he could think of that would fit the situation, Cybertronian swears just didn't seem to fit in this situation. His optics. They'd been seen.

"Who knows?" Jazz quietly asked.

"About you being in medbay? Most likely the whole base."

"Not about that."

Ratchet paused, fixing him with a hard look. "Myself and Mirage, to the extent of my knowledge. No other reports indicated the knowledge of it."

Jazz simply nodded. He felt exhausted, and this was just the icing on the cake.

"We don't think any different of you." Ratchet quietly said, gently placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. This time, he didn't flinch. "Get some recharge, you need it."

And with that, Ratchet left, locked the door and dimmed the lights.

Jazz was then left to his own thoughts, and he didn't like it. He needed a distraction, badly.

"Yo, Ratch?" Jazz shouted. Ratchets annoyed face appeared very quickly.

"What?" He asked in a disapproving tone.

"About that list..."

* * *

 

The medbay was dark when the visor onlined again.

Ratchet had long since retired to his berth, leaving the sole occupant to their own devices.

Only instead of the friendly blue visor everyone knew and loved, it was orange.

They slowly stood up, ripping out the various drips that they had been hooked up to and ignoring the way it stung. Monitors grew silent and fluids spilled onto the floor.

Using the meager light that the dim lights gave out, the mech surveyed themselves and promptly scowled at the sight of the Autobot insignia on their chest.

Clawed hands scratched away at it, leaving deep grooves in their wake.

Right. Their claws clicked together. He had a task. Toy with the second in command.

Simple enough, the glitch never left its office.

Plastering on a grin, they swaggered out of medbay and towards the offices. Kudos to Jazz, they had to admit. He'd gotten everything for them, right down to what stock was kept in which supply bay despite the fact of it having no relation to his interests nor his division.

Whooie, head of special ops yet he couldn't wriggle away. The Autobots were pathetic.

But he knew his target, and he knew his routine. Glued to his office, with only Jazz being able to drag him out (unless it was Ratchet and Prowl was unconscious and sporting a dent in his helm) and he only left on the rare occasion he recharged. Jazz was the one who kept him refuelled.

The mech had become dependant on another, how _weak_.

And how easy to _break_.

The code to the office was one that was easily remembered, given to trusted hands and easily exploited.

Prowl was not in his office. The mech frowned, but shrugged it off. He could easily sit and wait for him. Prowl would be back.

It wasn't long until their patience was rewarded.

Back against the wall, they were hidden in the shadows and so not seen when the mech walked in. The moment their doorwings came into the picture, however, they immediately perked up and Prowl turned around to greet Jazz only to freeze at the colour of his visor.

"Jazz?" He said carefully, slowly turning his body so that he was facing the mech dead on.

"I'm not Jazz." The mech replied, voice dripping with venom at the name. Pathetic, both of them _pathetic_...

Without wasting a single second, Prowl had twisted an arm behind his back and was pushing him against the wall, one hand keeping the arm in place and the other on the back of the mech's neck to keep him there.

"Who are you?" Prowl demanded, voice tight.

"Nobody important. But I do know someone who's important to you. Very important." The mech said, grinning as he reached down and grasped one of Prowls thighs as he grinded his hips backwards against Prowl. The mech twitched and his hold faltered as he jerked back. "I think you know just as well as I do who I'm talking about."

"I don't believe I do." Prowl stiffly replied, silently berating himself for falling for that.

"Oh, no?" They replied, slowly rubbing their hand up and down that thigh as they spoke. "What a shame for them. He is awfully jealous, you know."

"With no reason to be. Answer me, who are you?"

The mech pulled a face before grinning. He tugged himself out of Prowls grip, turning around so that they were chest-to-chest.

"I'm nobody!"

"You have to be somebody." Prowl replied, annoyed. Why couldn't he be his usual, solid self around this mech? He would have called them Jazz if it weren't for the orange visor and accent.

The mech appeared to ponder on this for a moment before smiling, evidently deciding on something.

"Ricochet."

Well that was... Far fetched? Prowl didn't allow this to be shown on his face, however, and instead simply nodded. Before he could reply, Ricochet continued.

"Ah have ta go now, but next time Ah promise we can play some more!"

And with that, the visor went offline and they promptly collapsed onto the floor. Prowl had immediately knelt down beside them, hands ghosting over them as if unsure.

They were warm, but not hot enough to raise alarm. And Prowl couldn't help but notice that it was indeed Jazz.

What was going on?

Was this Shockwave's doing? Or was this simply an older alias Jazz had worked under resurfacing due to trauma?

Ratchet wouldn't be sure, but Rung would.

Prowl didn't know of he could wait a groon to find out.

So, without further ado, Prowl slid his arms under his knees and shoulders and picked him up, fully intending on taking him back to the medical bay.

With a gasp and a full bodied jerk, Jazz leapt back into consciousness and flattened out almost as straight as a board. Prowl yelped in shock, stumbling to regain his balance.

"Jazz?!"

With shuddering breaths and a trembling frame, Jazz slowly turned to look at Prowl before immediately relaxing, body slumping.

"It's just ya..." Jazz quietly said to himself, not looking away from the mech. Prowl quietly watched, unsure as to what to do. His logic centre began to tell him to put Jazz down, so Prowl knelt to do just that, but before he could pull away Jazz immediately shot out and grabbed onto his arm with a fearful expression.

"Please stay." Were the first words to fall from Jazz's mouth, breaking optic contact. Prowl made to sit down next to Jazz, allowing the contact to continue.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he arranged himself accordingly. Slowly, Jazz nodded.

"Helm hurts a lil' bit, but Ah'm okay. Missing memories too. How'd Ah get here?"

He didn't remember. Jazz usually did remember his episodes where he slipped back into past aliases, so this meant...

Prowls expression darkened.

_Shockwave_.

"I don't know. I found you in here." Prowl honestly replied. No use in lairing. "I was about to take you back to the medical bay, lest Ratchet have a fit."

Jazz took a moment to process this before nodding. "Ah guess we should probably get ourselves down there."

Prowl helped Jazz get back to his feet again, doorwings twitching being the only indication of just how on edge he was. As much as Jazz would have liked to soothe them, he most certainly did not feel invited to, nor did he feel as though he had permission. No, that was a right another Praxian held. Not him.

Jazz bit back the pained noise that threatened to escape him at that thought. What had happened between himself and Prowl? There were some nights when Prowl would come by his quarters unannounced, cubes of high grade and a game tucked under his arm, yet now... He was lucky to see him outside of work.

The walk back to the medical bay was silent, tension thick in the air. Prowl stayed close enough to Jazz so that he could catch him if he collapsed again, but far away enough to not crowd him. Jazz was perfectly okay with this, although he would have preferred if Prowl carried him. Of course, he'd never ever voice this aloud. It'd bring out his little-known laziness, and it wasn't entirely because he was too tired to walk.

Jazz wasn't sure why this was. Sure, he loved Prowl as a friend, but he didn't think himself to be _that_ possessive over him. It was _absurd_ , the notion that Prowl was his. Prowl wasn't anyone's.

At least, Jazz hoped.

"I will ask Ratchet to look into this." Prowl suddenly said, breaking the silence.

"Thanks." Jazz replied, noticing that they were at the medbay and that they'd stopped walking. "Ah'm sorry about this..."

"It is fine." Prowl replied, palming the door open and gently nudging Jazz back inside. Ratchet was standing there, tapping his foot with his arms folded over his chest, looking decidedly unimpressed.

"So, planning on telling me you were going on a walk?" Ratchet asked, although Jazz had a feeling it was rhetorical.

"Course Ah was!" Jazz chirped, skirting past Ratchet and hopping back up onto the berth. "Ah just found Prowler."

Ratchet glanced at Prowl, the mech looking just as dumbfounded as he felt.

::I want a detailed report on what happened:: Ratchet commed Prowl, beginning to plug Jazz back in again.

::Of course:: Prowl replied, staying a few moments to watch before turning to leave.

* * *

 

Jazz didn't want to recharge again.

He sat up, watching the wall with rapt attention. Nothing was changing, however Jazz didn't want to risk relaxing. He couldn't blank out again. Waking up in Prowls arms had been unexpected and left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Had someone moved him there? Had he gone there himself? Answers weren't forthcoming from Prowl.

The little he remembered of his rescue just screamed trap. Shockwave had allowed them to leave; it was far too easy any other way. The defenses were deactivated or faulty, firing too late. Shutters weren’t falling to lock them into the base. It was only drones that were going after them.

Considering he was Third in Command, and there was a chance to deactivate the Autobot Second in Command too, Jazz would have expected a much heavier resistance. In fact, he had been well protected up until Shockwave had implanted the chip…

The chip. It was the chip. Not long after it had been put in had Soundwave left the room, his cassette minions going with him. And then there had been pain.

_Jazz_ was the trap. And he was sitting right in the middle of the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. College started again and I burned my hand. Do not recommend.


	3. Chapter Three

**Units of time as I use them:**

**Klick – a second**

**Breem – a minute**

**Joor – an hour**

**Cycle – a day**

**Decacycle – 10 days**

**Groon – a month**

**Orn – a decade**

**Vorn – a century**

**{bond chatter}**

**::Comm. chatter::**

* * *

Jazz had been acting weirdly.

Ratchet, quite simply, didn’t know what was going on. Jazz wasn’t sleeping properly, going to sleep in short three joor bursts before waking up again. When he was awake, he was almost delirious with either pain or panic, and most of the time the only way Ratchet could get him to calm down was through a shot of a relaxing drug. Jazz had most certainly gone way over the dosage allowance by now, but he wasn’t showing any ill effects at all. It was a conundrum in itself, and Ratchet was determined to find out what was wrong.

Whilst sleeping, he lay completely still, and to the untrained eye it looked as though he were deactivated.

Prowl couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he got from the situation. He couldn't forget what... Ricochet had said. He had managed to get under his plating, and it was unsettling.

Reason would explain it as Ricochet being a past character Jazz had worked under resurfacing, but memory would remind them that Jazz _remembered_ those episodes and apologised profusely after, helping to fix the damage and wrapping himself around the thumbs of those affected until he felt he had apologised enough.

"You're worried, aren't you?" Bluestreak asked, placing a cube of energon on the desk. "I know you don't like me knowing or talking about it and you do know I didn't mean to find out either but you don't need to worry about Jazz because Ratchets got this handled and he's a very good medic I wouldn't trust anyone else to get the job done as well as him and he has this handled and he's a good medic so Jazz will be okay, right?" He rambled, swirling his energon before taking a gulp. "I know Jazz is important to you so you will worry because it's normal I mean I worry about Sunstreaker-Imeanthat'snormal I-I mean..!" Bluestreak was flustered, hands covering his mouth. Prowl raised an optic ridge.

"Sunstreaker? You mean the hellion, pain in the aft, frontliner and vanity personified?"

"Uhm... Yes? No-maybe definitely yes-I'm sorry Prowl I know you said not to but I just.." Bluestreak groaned, hiding his face in his hands. Prowl signed forlornly, suddenly losing his appetite for the energon.

"My own brother..." He groused, downing the rest and throwing his cube into the bin. "He needs to prove his worth, you realise. Nothing he has done particularly impresses me."

"I feel comfortable around him." Bluestreak replied, nervously peeking through his fingers. "Not as comfortable as I feel with you, not at all! But... Comfortable."

"You'll need to try harder than that, Blue."

"Please give him a chance, Prowl! I'm friends with him and I'd quite like to know him more before you deactivate him yourself."

"Who said anything about _me_ killing him? I'd load the gun, but never pull the trigger."

" _Prowl_!"

"I was joking, Bluestreak. Finish your energon, you're on shift soon."

"Any notices for anyone?" Bluestreak asked before gulping down the rest of his energon, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not this time." Prowl replied, frowning at Bluestreaks behaviour.

"I'll see you later then." Bluestreak kissed Prowls cheek before skittering away.

Prowl groaned and wiped the sticky remains of the energon off his face. Bluestreak _knew_ he didn't like being kissed yet he _still_ insisted on doing it! The only reason he got away with it was because he was family, anyone else would have been shot at. Repeatedly.

Well, one other mech wouldn't have suffered that punishment, but Prowl wasn't about to admit that.

Especially not now.

Datapads were harder to focus on when he was worried. It was hard enough to focus on them when there was someone else in the room nattering away to him, but now, Prowl just found the silence deafening.

What could fill the silence?  
Prowls optics landed on the stereo. It was something Jazz had left in here – Prowl couldn’t remember when, it was before _The Ark_ crashed on Earth at the very _least_ – and never bothered to remove, claiming it was an old one that he’d been meaning to replace and that Prowl could keep it. Following that, Jazz had been leaving behind records of music Prowl didn’t complain about, and since crashing on Earth it had begun to include Earth music. It hadn’t taken long for Prowl to notice that Jazz was doing it on purpose, but Prowl never saw any reason to bring it up nor call him out on it. It wasn’t as if he had an issue with it, so what was the point? Prowl would happily admit that when he worked past the end of his shift, which was often the case, he would sit in the silence of the base whilst her crew recharged with the stereo softly playing in the background, working on datapad after datapad.

The stereo found itself on the desk, a record carefully placed inside as the volume was lowered.

And Prowl sat back, and took a moment to just _listen_.

Prowl remembered getting this one. Jazz had babbled on for joors about how amazing it was that the human composer was tone deaf, yet still managed to create works of art. He had gone on about certain songs, compared them to cybertronian music, gone back to marveling the wonders of human music and then melted into a metaphorical puddle of jealousy. All whilst Prowl was signing off datapad after datapad. Prowl had pretended he wasn’t listening, even though he was, yet Jazz still continued. It made Prowl wonder if he did that when Prowl really was ignoring him – something that was common in the past, back when he was an even lonelier git, but wasn’t after Praxus.

Praxus. A sore topic for most.

Some had found the obliteration of a city to be something hard to swallow, even more so when the population was almost entirely wiped out. Exactly how many Praxians had survived nobody knew, but _The Ark_ held a precious few of them. Prowl wasn’t as bothered by it as others would think. At the time, he had shattered along with the city, but whilst he had someone there to help piece him back together again, not many others did.

Bluestreak included.

Prowl was one of the lucky ones. He was safe in Iacon, forced to watch the ordeal on a screen where he couldn’t feel the blistering heat, hear the screams of engines or the crunching as buildings crumbled and fell.

Bluestreak? Not so lucky.

He had been visiting their creators, and it was by pure utter luck that he had survived The Fall. A hard shove from one of his creators – Bluestreak never saw which one – had shoved him into a gap created by a fallen building, and he was then hidden by a mass movement of rubble. A decacycle later, he had been found and brought to the closest base.

The pure relief that Prowl had felt when he found Bluestreak in that base, huddled amongst the pillows and blankets he had cobbled together into a make-shift fort and looking for all the world that he was about to pass out, was a relief that Prowl had never felt before, or since. Even Jazz coming back to the base still online wasn’t as relieving than finding his little brother was.

Prowl was rudely disrupted from his thoughts when his door beeped to indicate it had been locked from the inside. Nobody know his lock codes other than himself, who it certainly wasn’t, Bluestreak, who it couldn’t have and…

Prowl jumped to his feet, hand coming down to turn off the stereo. His hand was caught, and his helm snapped to the side so quickly his neck clicked.

Ricochet was standing there, hand grasping onto Prowls own to keep the music playing.

“I remember this. Little Jazzy gave this to you, didn’t he? He thought you’d like it, but he wasn’t sure. You never said anything, how mean.” Ricochet began, beginning to play with the fingers on the captured hand. “You’re mean, mean, mean, Prowlie.”

Prowls optic twitched in irritation. _Prowlie_. Primus, what a detestable name. He attempted to snatch his hand back but Ricochet was having none of it. “What do you want?”

“So to the point.” Ricochet replied absently, seeing how far he could bend back a digit before getting a reaction out of Prowl. “I have until Jazzy wants to wake up again, and I made sure it wasn’t any time soon. Poor thing thinks he’s on fire whenever he wakes up.” He laughed, visor glinting. “While this body sleeps we have a nice chat, too. He’s told me things, that Jazzy.”

“You’re evil.” Prowl spat, frowning at him. How was he doing this to Jazz? It wasn’t easy to trick someone into thinking they were burning; they had to be very skilled, and it was only too easy to be reminded of Soundwave.

“I know! It’s fantastic, isn’t it? Limitless. No remorse, none at all. Don’t you want to know what Jazzy’s told me? He hasn’t even told _you_ and you’re like the Batman to his Robin.”

“The- ex-excuse me?” Prowl spluttered, feeling a component in the back of his helm begin to suffer.

“The Tim Burton to his Johnny Depp. The Shaggy to his Scooby. The Buzz to his Woody.”

“I-I-I-“ Prowls vocalizer spat static and his optics flecked with white for a brief moment. “I don’t follow.”

“Cute.” Ricochet finally released Prowls hand, stepping back and wandering over to his music collection. “Why don’t we have a change of tune? Something Jazz gave you a while ago – you mustn’t have listened to it in a while, what a shame. It was one of his favourites.”

Ricochet dusted off the cover, proudly presenting it to Prowl. Prowl accepted it and replaced the record, handing the other back to Ricochet.

“I believe you had a reason to be here.” Prowl prompted.

“I did?” Ricochet put his finger on his chin for a moment to think. “Oh, yes, of course! I did!” He excitedly exclaimed before suddenly tackling Prowl to the ground. It was purely a reflex reaction that Prowl put his arms out to catch his upper body, avoiding his doorwings being painfully pinned to the floor.

“What’s your problem?!” Prowl snapped, doorwings flaring up.

“Equivalent exchange. I want something in return, hmm?”

“And that would be?”

“Well, it’d be more fun if you were conscious when I started revealing all of Jazz’s secrets. It really spices things up, no?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a fantastic idea. Now, where do I begin? There’s so much, but where’s the mystery in giving it all away at once?” Ricochet adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, drawing a noise of protest from Prowl, and folded his arms under his bumper. “That. Yes, that’ll do.” He grinned maliciously. “Jazzy tells me things, see? Not you. _Me_. I know exactly what he thinks about you, and that little Praxian. Bluestreak, was it?”

“Keep _away_ from him.” Prowl hissed, doorwings rising even higher and optics narrowing.

Ricochet laughed. “I wasn’t planning on getting him. Not just yet anyway, what a way to ruin suspense. No, it’s not his turn yet. Now, now it’s yours. Now it’s Jazz’s too. Jazz is so easy to break, did you know? So, so easy. I-“ Ricochet was suddenly cut off by Prowl throwing him off to the side and reaching forwards to grasp at his throat, but he hesitated.

The hesitation was all Ricochet needed to swiftly kick Prowl in the abdomen, knocking him away.

Prowl thought he was going to throw up, his recently fueled tanks complaining. He couldn’t stand Ricochet talking about Jazz like that, but he couldn’t stand to see his own hand wrapped around that neck with harmful intent. He’d just hurt Jazz how _could_ he-

“That, Prowlie, was not a good move.” Ricochet snarled.

“Don’t talk about Jazz like that.”

“Only the truth, no harm in that. Now, where was I? Oh, oh yes. That’s where.”

Ricochet sat up and grinned as if nothing had happened. “Jazzy’s feeling the nibble of jealousy, Prowlie. He wants you for himself and he’s oh so very jealous.”

“Of who?” Prowl asked, helm tilting with a furrowed brow. Jazz had nobody to be jealous of. He was one of the few mechs Bluestreak looked up to – and that was saying something – and he was popular, had a voice Prowl could listen to for vorns on end, not to mention visu-

Prowl cut off that train of thought right there. It had no place here, there was no way Jazz would _ever_ return the feeling. Lonely old git, that’s what he was.

“Bluestreak, of course. Now, about that exchange.”

Prowl found himself on his back, Ricochet towering over him, something sharp and glowing dangerously close to his lower abdomen. It was nowhere near any of his vitals – he could take a wound there – but it wasn’t particularly pleasant, and neither was the visual of having what appeared to be Jazz doing it.

“Ah sure hope ya don’t mind this, Prowler.” Ricochet teased, and Prowl flinched at the accent. Jazz, he sounded _just like Jazz_ -

Prowl didn’t know how to react as he felt the energon blade embed itself in him. At first, it was barely a sting but suddenly it was all encompassing and he couldn’t hold back the yelp-

“Ah don’t feel that this is enough, do ya Prowler? Ah sure hope ya don’t. Ah’ve got much more ta tell ya. Maybe not tonight though, Ah don’t wanna kill ya!” Ricochet waved it off with a laugh, visor brightening at the sight of energon spilling from the wound. He gripped onto the handle of the blade more tightly, beginning to wriggle it around. Prowl panted and whined, desperately wanting to knock Ricochet off but not wanting to risk the chance of getting himself sliced open even further.

“Ya sound amazin’, Prowler.” Ricochet laughed again. “But really. I do have something else to add before I leave.”

“ _Spit it out_.”

“Ooh, feisty one we have here! Your perfect little Jazz,” Ricochet punctuated every word with a deft wiggle of the blade, “Is so smitten he can barely stomach the thought of hurting you. He wants to say hi now, so I’ll give you some time alone. Bye bye, Prowlie!”

Ricochet suddenly went slack, visor offline, and as his frame leaned forwards it shoved the blade further up with him. It hurt.

_It hurt._

Prowl screamed in pain, not being able to hold it back anymore, hands flying up to grasp the blade and _stop it_.

“Oh _fucking shit_ -!”

It was unmistakably Jazz’s voice. The weight pinning the blade inside him and the weight on his waist suddenly disappeared, Jazz leaping away from him, trembling and shaking.

“Prowler, Prowler oh frag Ah’m so sorry Ah-Ah didn’t mean ta…” Jazz’s hands hovered over him, and he looked unsure as of what to do.

“It wasn’t you.” Prowl replied, groaning as he held his hands against the wound. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t you.”

“Ah’m the one with ya energon on ma hands, and that’s ma blade! Don’t take it out, Ah’ll call Ratch’ – jus’, jus’ stay still!”

Prowl allowed his helm to heavily fall against the ground as he groaned. He was never going to be able to explain this. All things considered, it was Jazz who had done this, but it wasn’t _Jazz_. It was Ricochet.

Prowl began to regret not letting Ratchet know about him sooner. It would have saved him the explanation now.

Jazz wrung his hands, visor bright. His chest rise and fell rapidly, and he couldn’t tear his optics away from the blade embedded in Prowls abdomen.

“Ah’m so sorry.” He whimpered. It was uncharacteristic of Jazz to whimper, but Prowl wasn’t about to push the issue and ask why. Not right now. Jazz’s hands came up and he covered his face in them, curling in on himself.

“Jazz, look at me.”

Slowly, the hands came away and Jazz peeked over his digits at him.

“Stop apologizing.”

Jazz flinched at the harsh tone and Prowl immediately felt guilty. He hadn’t meant to snap. “Sorry, I…” Prowl groaned and rubbed his palm into his temple. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s fine.” Jazz replied, scooting closer. “Tell me if this hurts, ‘kay?” He said as he gently lifted Prowls helm up onto his lap.

“Why..?”

“Ah didn’t think the floor was that comfy, but if ya wanna go back again-“

“No!” Prowl quickly interrupted. “No, no. This- this is fine.”

Jazz relaxed at that. But Jazz couldn’t fully relax. Something burned, but not enough to sting, like when you eat something spicy and you can still feel it on your lips. It was in the back of his head, and no matter how Jazz rubbed at it the feeling didn’t go away.

“What’s happenin’ ta me, Prowler?” Jazz miserably asked.

“I don’t know.” Prowl replied, equally as crestfallen. “I just don’t know.”

* * *

**I know that ‘batman to his robin’ wasn’t the best comparison… I made the mistake of asking my DC-fanatic manfriend and _good lord_ … I’m pretty sure Batman and Robin is one that’d be better recognized, but I know Superman and Batman was probably a better one.**

**Aaaanyway. Let me know what you thought, my lovelies!**

**~Llama**


	4. Chapter four

The welds were uncomfortable, and Jazz kept glancing at them with a guilty expression on his face.

Ratchet was still irked at Prowl, and he was now treading on thin ice. It was in his best interests to not piss the medic off.

"It's strange how you seem fine whenever you have your episodes." Ratchet said offhandedly, writing away on a datapad. "You're lucid, for one."

"Ah'm countin' it as a blessin'." Jazz said, pretending to relax. "Ah'd rather not overdose on anythin', hmm?"

"True. I'm beginning to run out of stock." Ratchet grumbled.

"I'll be sure to put it into the priority restock." Prowl noted.

"Thanks. For now, Jazz, just stay in here. Go to recharge. Prowl, out with me for a moment."

When Prowl left the room, Jazz flopped backwards and bit down hard on his bottom lip, watching the lights dimming to imitate twilight.

He'd stabbed Prowl.

His scream of pain still echoed in his audials, and it was haunting. Recharge would not be coming easy, regardless of the prodding Ricochet would give him.

_"Hey, buddy. Jazzy. Jazzy Jazz. Hey, hey, listen up. Wanna know what would be awesome? Hey? Just kicking back and relaxing for a bit. We can chat, catch up. Just like old times."_

Jazz ignored him.

_"Ignoring me doesn't work, Jazzy."_ Ricochet hummed, and a sharp pain lanced through Jazz's helm, causing a pained sound to escape him as he clutched his head.

"Alrigh', alrigh'. Ya win. What do ya want?"

_"Weelllll, I was thinking..."_

Jazz offlined his optics as he settled down into a more comfortable position.

"Like that's not something new."

_"Watch yourself."_ Ricochet replied, voice dangerous. _“You know what I'm capable of. I'm not afraid of harming Prowlie again."_

"Don't. Don't hurt him."

_"A request or a demand?"_

Jazz whined. "A request. Please, Ricky. Ah know Shockwave's hard ta ignore but-"

_"What would_ you _know about Shockwave? I was the one stuck with him for millions of years while you were scott free, shacking it up with the Autobots! Do you have any idea as to what he's done to me?"_ Ricochet hissed, and Jazz felt the pressure in the back of his head increase. _"I used to be like you, you remember. Don't you? Good, good you do. But then_ he _got his hands on my chip, the thing you were supposed to keep safe for me! Traitor! You did this!"_

"Shockwave removed it himself, Ah had no say! Ya were there!"

_"I barely remember myself. He ruined me. I have seen so many frames, been so many experiments. I don't want to be one anymore."_ he replied weakly.

Jazz felt sorry for him. Shockwave was an insane bastard, he had no moral coding and Jazz was only too aware of what he could do.

"Ricky, Ah'm sorry-"

_"HA! Got you!"_ Ricochet gleefully replied, laughing like a maniac.

Jazz bristled with anger, fists clenching. _Fucking bastard._

_"Don't look so mad!"_ Ricochet cooed. _"I'll forget this in the morning and no-more-teasing! I promise."_

Jazz initiated his recharge protocols.

_"Spoil sport."_

"Mother fragger."

_"Rude."_

* * *

Prowl looked nervous as Ratchet gave him a once-over.

"Do not hide this kind of thing from me ever. Again. Understood?" Ratchet hissed at him, wrench inches away.

"Understood." Prowl replied as calmly as he could.

"Good. Now get out and get some rest, I don't want you in your office until tomorrow morning!"

Prowl was nearly out of the medical bay before Ratchet had even finished.

Face-down on his berth was the first place he went.

He couldn't believe he had been stabbed by Jazz. He was thankful that none of his vitals had been struck, and that Ratchet was able to patch him up enough for him to only need a check up after a cycle and allow him to go to his quarters, but the fact still remained.

Jazz had stabbed him.

His reaction after was what kept Prowl calm enough to not have a breakdown. It was sincere, and Jazz was oh so very, very sorry.

Small hands and a familiar field appeared on the hinges of his doorwings.

"Prowl?" Bluestreak asked, sitting down next to him, hands gently moving in circles. "Are you okay? What happened while I was gone I heard that there was a commotion and Ratchet had to be called but nobody was being told what happened and they all keep asking me and not believing when I say I don't know and it's horrible- oh I'm sorry I'm doing it again aren't I? I don't try to it just happens and..." Bluestreak went quiet. Prowl sat up and pulled the smaller mech onto his lap, quickly hiding the weld mark.

"Hush, you." He gently chided. Bluestreak wriggled closer to his brother, engine purring in satisfaction.

"I am fine, ignore those who say any different. You know what to do if anyone gives you trouble."

"Tell you, I know I know. But do you know what they say about us?"

Prowls doorwings twitched. He didn't, usually it was Jazz who kept him in the loop with all of the gossip.

"No, no I don't."

Bluestreak squirmed. "I love you and all Prowl but that's the family love - storge? I think? But anyway they're saying that we're something else and I..." Bluestreak, for once, seemed to struggle to find words, but Prowl got the picture.

And if what he now knew about Jazz was true, no _wonder_ he avoided Prowl. "I get what you mean."

"Good because I don't think I'll be able to explain it it's so embarrassing because it's not true and we're siblings so it just feels wrong because we're not split sparks and it's awkward to hear other people saying it and not being able to say why they're wrong!"

"You _can_ tell them, you know."

"I know I can but what if I say it wrong and it makes things worse?"

Prowl just sighed and rested his chin on the top of Bluestreaks helm.

"You're still worried about Jazz, aren't you? I thought it was something minor but if it was you wouldn't be so worried which means it's more and you're hiding something from the rest of us."

"I hate how observant you are."

"I learned from the best. Spill."

"Telling you anything may put you in more danger than I'm willing to." Prowl replied. "But there is more to it. Something's not right with Jazz."

"Called it!" Bluestreak chirped. "The twins think that Soundwave did something-"

Prowl tensed up and Bluestreak immediately stopped talking.

"Sorry, I know we shouldn't be talking about it like this-"

"No, carry on. Different viewpoints are useful."

Bluestreak nervously nodded. "Well, Sides is still in the Medbay and Sunny gets grumpy so we went to go entertain his twin and keep him out of Ratchets hair for a bit, and we've come to the conclusion that Soundwave did something because he's the one who likes to get into people's heads - he did it to Sunny before when he's been captured - and Sides said that Jazz has been acting weirdly as he's usually running around Medbay, pissing off Ratchet and entertaining the others in there but this time he's just staying in his private room and a couple times he's snuck out only to come back a few joors later looking lost and put out - and with you."

Prowl blinked at how much Bluestreak was saying in one go. Clearly he was just as unsettled by this as anyone else was.

But it made Prowl think.

Nobody but himself and Ratchet knew about Ricochet. And Soundwave... Was a plausible explanation. Shockwave and Soundwave were, after all, known for sickening experiments.

Prowl decided to ignore the nicknames his brother had given the twins.

"That... Is a very good point..." Prowl murmured.

Bluestreak nodded and his optics dimmed for a second. "I'm gunna go get some recharge, I'm on first shift tomorrow. Night night!" He said, kissing his cheek before hopping out of his arms and leaving Prowls quarters.

Prowl stayed where he was for a moment, mulling over the information.

Most interesting.

* * *

 

“Mirage, here a moment.” Ratchet barked as the spy walked past the medbay. Taking a moment to accept his impending doom, the spy was quick to follow orders.

He was lead into Ratchets office, which was never a good thing, and he perched on the seat as though he were preparing to flee.

“Don’t look so scared. I only want to ask you a few questions.” Ratchet assured him as he settled into the seat behind the desk. He extracted a datapad from the top drawer.

“Yes, Sir.” Mirage replied, trying his best to relax. He didn’t know what it was, but medics just made him so… nervous. Or maybe it was Ratchets ability to know _exactly_ what he was thinking.

“I don’t.” Ratchet casually said as he scrolled down the datapad, finding what he was looking for. Mirage tensed up, and Ratchet gave him an exasperated look.

“I can guess what you’re thinking, you Ops mechs are all the same. Now, I called you in here to ask if you could identify this for me.”

Ratchet handed over the datapad, and Mirage balked when he saw Jazz’s optics.

“Ratchet, I can’t look this is personal-“ He began, handing the datapad back.

“Mirage. Look. You’re the only one who would recognize the house symbol.”

“There are plenty other nobles on this base.”

“None that I trust as much as you. Do you recognize this badge or not?”

Mirage slowly looked back at the image again, studying the badge carefully. “Y-yes.” He stuttered, swallowing hard. “I never associated with him then, he was just as… atrocious. But I know whose badge this is.”

“Well then?”

“I… It’s Shockwaves.”

Ratchet felt his tanks drop through the floor.

“Shockwave?”

“Yes. Shockwave. It certainly explains a few things.”

Ratchet suddenly stood. “Thank you, Mirage. You are dismissed.”

“Promise me you won’t be hard on Jazz. He’s terrified of him.”

Ratchet nodded. “Of course.”

Mirage nodded and quickly bowed before leaving. He did quickly pause at Jazz’s room to see how he was, but when he saw that he was in recharge – and peaceful, for once, he decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Ratchet, on the other hand, was not peaceful. Not at all.

Jazz was a slave? Eh, no big deal. Nobody could notice it at all, nor did anyone know – a true testament to why he was both Third in Command and the Special Operations Officer. But it _did_ raise questions, questions like how he even got into the army in the first place.

Even more so when Shockwave had owned him.

Deciding it was high time he let Optimus know, Ratchet left his office.

* * *

Prowl nearly groaned aloud and smothered himself with his pillow when he saw Jazz’s shadow. He really was not in the mood to be toyed with by Ricochet.

But he was glad he had bitten his tongue and not shouted obscenities at him when he saw what was unmistakably Jazz poke his head in.

“Hey, Prowl. Havin’ trouble rechargin’ too?”

“You could say that.” Prowl replied, shifting on his bed to make more room as he patted the spot next to him. Jazz awkwardly sat in the offered place, but he was still closer to falling off the edge than he was to Prowl. Despite how little he appeared to want to get to Prowl, his field was happily melding with his, just like it did before.

“Ah thought you’d be seein’ Bluestreak if that were the case.” Jazz replied. Was that _jealously_ Prowl could detect?

“My little brother,” Prowl began, emphasizing the last word, “Is recharging in his own quarters.”

“He’s ya brother?!” Jazz yelped, falling off the berth from the momentum of him spinning around to face Prowl. Prowl immediately shot forwards to catch him, but only succeeded in watching Jazz land rather ungracefully.

A hand didn’t quite manage to stifle his laugh.

“Yeah yeah, laugh all ya want, buddy.” Jazz grumbled as he righted himself. “But seriously. Brother? Ah didn’t know ya had siblings!”

“Two of them, I’m the oldest of three.”

“Ya need ta tell me more about yaself, Prowl.” Jazz muttered as he clambered back on, shooing Prowl back. This time, he wasn’t at risk of falling on his aft again.

“Maybe later.” He replied, hand coming up to brush against the back of Jazz’s head. Jazz’s visor dimmed as he brought his legs up, hugging himself. Prowl rolled his optics and threw his head back, thunking it against the wall. That was not the reaction he was going for, and he was rather irritated with himself for it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that-“

"Ah know, it... It's something else." Jazz replied, fingers curling.

"What is it?" Prowl asked, sitting further forwards.

"Ya must think Ah'm a freak."

"Nonsense."

"Prowl, Ah have another person in ma head who is hellbent on destroying things."

" _Oh, ouch_." Ricochet grumbled. Prowl couldn’t hear him.

"That isn't you."

"It used to be."

Prowl just stared at him in stunned silence.

"... Ah should probably go." Jazz said, making to stand.

"No! Wait- stay. Please?"

"Ah don't wanna talk about it."

"We don't have to. Just stay for a little while longer."

Jazz settled back down again. "Ah missed this, yanno." He said, playing with the thin sheet on the berth.

"Hmm?"

"This. Us. Taking ta ya." Jazz replied.

"I suppose it has been a while." Prowl replied, leaning back to rest against the wall again, mindful of his doorwings.

Jazz hummed and leaned back with him, shoulders barely brushing. It felt so strange, how they had barely seen each other and yet they were acting as if they had never spent a moment apart, even if words said different. "Is it okay if Ah recharge? Ah can't in medical."

"Go ahead."

Jazz didn't even wait for Prowl to adjust his position for him to lie down - he just slumped over onto Prowl as his recharge protocols activated without a command.

"Well, isn't this just a rock and a hard place." Prowl quietly grumbled to himself as he tried to wriggle his way down without having Jazz fall from his shoulder, or worse, his berth.

He himself was tired, and he knew that Jazz always recharged better when there was someone around who he trusted. Prowl had been told that it was the ops missions that had done it, however he was starting to think that there was another reason.

But Prowl couldn't bring himself to fully power down. The ever-looming threat of Ricochet stopped him. The mech with the potential to become him slumbered next to him - if he were to awaken...

It was too big a risk.

After making sure Jazz was comfortable, he took out a datapad and begun to read it.

It was work, and if Ratchet knew he would kill him, but it was the only thing he had in his quarters that was within reach. All of his leisure reading was across the other side of the room, and Prowl wasn't about to risk waking up Jazz or Ricochet.

* * *

Jazz sighed and squeaked as he stretched. He felt so well rested! The recharge he’d had in the medbay had done nothing for his exhaustion – maybe it was something to do with the context? Anyhow, all he knew was that he was comfortable, warm, and that it smelled nice.

And awfully familiar in a way that made his spark ache.

His visor slowly onlined, and he looked out into Prowls quarters. They were as clean and tidy as ever, but they were missing one thing – Prowl himself. Jazz’s field wasn’t detecting anything behind him, and the mech sat up to find that he was well and truly alone.

Well, almost. The door beeped to signal that someone had gained entry and a very annoyed Ratchet marched in.

“ _Stay_ _in your_ _room_.” He snapped. “Why is that so hard to understand? Why can none of you ever follow orders?”

Jazz shrunk back slightly. Maybe asking First Aid if he could have a walk wasn’t the best idea.

“You’re just very lucky Prowl commed to let me know you were in here.” Ratchet continued. “I do hope you hadn’t been causing mischief again as Ricochet.”

“Ah wouldn’t remember if Ah had.” Jazz replied childishly. “Ah’d only left wantin’ a walk, Ah guess Ricochet decided a nap would be better.”

“ _Don’t ya push this on me, you greasy sponge!_ ”

“And I, frankly, do not care. Come on, to medbay with you. I’ve got Perceptor working on something for you.”

“Ah thought we were waitin’ for the shrinks?”

“A quick comm call with them lead to the decision that a month is too long to wait. We’ve decided that a block may be the best thing in this case.”

“A block?”

“I’ll explain in medbay.” Ratchet said, eying a passing soldier.

Once in the medbay, Jazz was ushered back onto his berth and Ratchet grabbed a datapad from his office.

“Where’s Percy?” Jazz asked, peeking over Ratchets shoulder as he came into his private room.

“In his lab. Less distractions, and less attention.” Ratchet replied. “Now, about this block. Know that while I wouldn’t like to explain exactly what it is in case that guy in your head wants to ruin it, I unfortunately took an oath which means I have to.” Ratchet groused.

“Ah’m listenin’.”

“ _So am Ah_.”

“Essentially, it shuts down parts of your processor.” Ratchet began.

“ _Wha’_?” Jazz balked.

“I know, I know. It’s risky, it’s dangerous, and we’ve seen it go wrong in Prowl.” Ratchet attempted to soothe him. “But we’ve had time to iron out the kinks, and while I’ll admit it’s still risky, it’s worth giving it a shot.”

“So ya gunna shut off part of ma processor.”  
“That’s the gist of it. The only issue here is we have no idea which part to even target.”

“There’s a chip. Ricky’s on that.”

“Then we’ll be targeting that then.”

“There’s jus’ one problem.”

“And that is?”

“Ah have two of ‘em, an’ one is me. Ah don’t know which is which.”

“Ah.”

“Yup.”

Ratchet rubbed a hand down his face. _Damn it_. “I’ll run some scans.”

“ _Don’t think you’ll be getting away with this, Jazz_.” Ricochet spat. “ _Don’t even begin to think that you will_.”


	5. Chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con!  
> Sorry for the stupid ass wait! I haven't been well as of late.

Shockwave paced his laboratory on Cybertron.

He hadn’t meant for Jazz to be taken so soon, he hadn’t properly implemented the chip and the new coding. True, it _could_ be activated, and if it were anything else he would have activated it without a second thought, but Ricochet was important to him. The coding was… volatile, if the energon stains on the metal floor were anything to go by. Scratch marks on the ceiling? Only there if you really looked, Shockwave told himself. He’d fix that later, when he was no longer in disgrace with Megatron.

Megatron had been the hardest to convince that Jazz was meant to escape. The warlord had been set on using him as bargaining material, the Autobot third in command for Lazerbeak and Hook. Their surveillance was limited to Ravage (so _very_ limited), and their medical bay…. Well, it was safe to say that the scientists were useless when it came to the kinds of injuries Megatrons fusion cannon inflicted.  
Starscream was fucked, essentially.

It was no wonder that he was stepping carefully around the ex-gladiator.

Back to the coding.

Shockwave had wanted to be there as it activated to ensure Ricochet – or even Jazz – didn’t hurt themselves or kill anyone else in the room. Although the _murder-murder_ aspect would be useful, Shockwave wanted to utilize that while Jazz was surrounded by Officers, and without surveillance…

Well, his problem was obvious. It was logical to remove the entire Autobot Command if you had the option.

However if the coding had been correctly implemented, he’d have been able to do that regardless – only he would have just simply sent the instruction to Ricochet, who in turn would carry out the massacre for him. Without the correct procedure there was a 50% chance that they’d be overcome by the need to kill, and a 50% chance that it would do nothing.

Both worked in his favor and hindered him at the same time.

::Megatron: Still displeased::

Shockwave would have frowned at the message if he could. It was an unexpected message, even if the contents were anticipated.

::Am I still expecting an energon delivery in 1.5 decacycles?::

::Affirmative:: The other hesitated before continuing, ::Amount: Not as high as anticipated::

::I thought as much. Tell our gracious Lord I thank him::

Soundwave cut the communication. Shockwave tutted, not even a _goodbye_. Although, he supposed he deserved that. Their farewell on Earth had been… tense. Soundwave was irritated that he hadn’t done more to keep Jazz there, and so keep their bargaining tool to get back Lazerbeak. Shockwave knew how important the cassette was to Soundwave, and the mech was deeply feeling the loss.

However Soundwave wasn’t taking into account that Shockwave was feeling a loss, too.

Ricochet.

Shockwave looked behind him, almost expecting to see the temporary frame he’d given the mech poking at some instrument he had told him not to at least a thousand times.

Nonsense.

He strode towards his console and started to furiously type on the keypad, determined to work out a way to implement the rest of the coding from a planet sixty-five million light years away.

* * *

 

_“Do not touch that.”_

_Black hands flinched away from the strange contraption they were reaching towards. The small mech glanced with annoyance at the single-opticed mech standing at the console, his attention focused on the numbers and graphs flying all over the screen. He didn’t know how he even saw everything with just one optic._

_“Do not touch that either.” They said again as black hands lifted random test tubes out of the racks to get a better look at their contents._

_“Is there anything I’m allowed to touch?” He asked, irritated._

_“The floor.”_

_Ricochet stuck his tongue out at him._

_“Do that again and you will lose it.”_

_The tongue went firmly back into his mouth._

xXx

_Shockwave ambled downstairs when he heard screaming._

_It wasn’t as though the sound was unusual to him – test subjects were always screaming – but it was more the number of them, and the rapid banging sounds that accompanied them. They weren’t on the berth – they were knocking on the_ door _._

 _Test subjects were always strapped to a berth. It was not the test subject, no, it was his_ scientists _. His security protocols locked all of the lab doors while a test was in session, and he didn’t unlock them until the allotted time had passed… it had only been two joor since they had started, they weren’t due to finish until the next cycle. What could possibly have happened?_

_His feet splashed in a fluid. He looked down and saw that the corridor was flooded with energon, the source of it…_

_The door the banging was coming from._

_How interesting._

_He typed in his passcode to the door and it hissed open as the banging turned into scraping. One of his scientists – he didn’t care for their name – was sat slumped in front of the door, their face wet with coolant and his hands marred with scrapes._

_“S-Sir-“ They spluttered out, but the purple mech paid them no mind as his optic locked onto the figure sitting in the corner, chewing on… an arm…? How peculiar, he didn’t recall coding cannibalism in._

_He wouldn’t be removing it._

_“I want a detailed report.” He addressed the quivering mech on the floor before stepping into the room proper and approaching Ricochet._

_The mech was covered in energon, it coating his face, chest, and his arms. His claws were dripping with it, pieces of metal caught on them. He looked up at Shockwave as he nervously gnawed on the arm, claws tapping on the metal._

_“Why?” Shockwave simply asked as he knelt in front of him._

_“It hurt.” Ricochet replied, energon splattering down his chin._

_“So you ate them?”_

_“I didn’t mean to.” Ricochet indignantly replied, “It just happened!”_

_“Your twin wouldn’t do this.”_

_“I’m not my twin.” He spat._

_“No, you’re not.” Shockwave stood and turned his back on him, not surprised to see that the scientist had scampered away at first chance. “He’s smarter. He can control himself.” He began to walk out of the room._

_Ricochet scrunched the arm up and ground his teeth, sparks flying. “I’m better than him!”_

_“Then you’d better prove it.”_

_The arm clunked on the back of Shockwaves head. The mech stopped in his tracks and slowly turned, Ricochet slowly sinking down lower when he’d realised what he had done._

_There was no point in apologising, no point in spouting excuses. When Shockwave strode towards him the most he could do was scramble to his feet before the taller mech had grabbed his face, pinching in his cheeks so hard they dented._

_“That just proves my point.” Shockwave said, optic narrowing. “You don’t deserve these. You haven’t grown into them.” He tapped one of Ricochets teeth._

_Ricochet felt a cold bolt of fear shoot through him. No, no no no! He dug his feet into the ground, desperately resisting the pull of the purple mech._

_Shockwave threw him down onto the berth and one by one began to pluck out Ricochets serrated teeth as if it were nothing, the mech screaming as energon gurgled in his mouth, pedes kicking and desperately trying to gain traction on something,_ anything _so he could escape._

 _As he viciously tugged the last one out, he allowed Ricochet to slump onto the floor, surrounded by energon and his own teeth. It hurt._ It hurt _._

_The last tooth was dropped onto his lap._

_“You can have these back when you prove you are worthy.”_

_And with that, Shockwave left the room, door hissing shut behind him and the lock re-engaging. Ricochet wouldn’t be leaving that room until the next cycle._

_There was a tentative push from his spark bond with his twin. He roughly shoved them back, energon spattering from his mouth as he snarled. ::_ This is all your fault _::_

_::I wasn’t the one who threw an arm at his head::_

_::How do you know what I did?:: Ricochet spat back._

_::I watched the footage. I take it you don’t want me to save you a cube later::_

_::… I’m full::_

_::There’s a mirror under the table if you want to use that, I saw some guy stash it there before you went in::_

_::If Shockwave catches you do this you’ll get into trouble::_

_::_ If _::_

_::You’re just lucky I’m the throwaway twin::_

_::Don’t say that, you know it’s not true::_

_::You can say that because you haven’t had a scalpel inside you while you’re still conscious::_

_::Whatever. You gunna put your teeth back in or what?::_

xXx

 _Ricochet sprinted through the base, testing out the new frame Shockwave had given him. It was no gift, no – it had hardware in it that Shockwave wanted to test for any faults before he presented it to Megatron._ A peace offering _, he had told Ricochet._

_That purple bastard knew nothing about peace, Ricochet couldn’t help thinking._

_Especially considering the most important piece of hardware was that of an in-built cannon. Fortunately for him, the Autobots who had seen fit to wonder into their little base had no idea what was coming for them. He jumped up into the rafters and hopped over them towards the nearest group, balancing in a crouch when he came across them. They were gossiping and settling in for the night. It seemed to be reasonable enough – this base was largely abandoned, most of it in ruins and so unused – perfect for a campsite. The parts that were salvageable Shockwave used simply as a lure, stupid Autobots falling for it and being used as cannon fodder for his latest experiment._

_Ricochet was about to drop down and lay waste to them when a bit of gossip came up – Shockwave and_ Soundwave _. The mech was often with Shockwave, the two working on some project or other together. The cassette Ravage had taken a liking towards Shockwave and was often lurking around in his lab somewhere. It made Jazz’s spying somewhat impossible, much to their dismay. The first time Jazz had been caught, the punishment… It didn’t bear thinking about._

_"I heard rumours that they were preparing for an arranged bonding." A white and blue mech with a towers accent said, hand delicately placed by his mouth in mock-scandal._

_"Yeah, right." Another mech replied, hidden behind a piece of rubble._

_"Seriously. I looked into it a little-"_

_"_ Mirage _!"_

 _"And their houses_ are _looking at striking some kind of deal."_

_"How do you know this anyway?" A doorwinged mech - a Praxian maybe - asked. His gaudy blue paint hurt to look at._

_"I still have contacts, I'll have you know." Mirage snootily replied. "They're not as savoury as your own."_

_"Your sweet-tooth contacts can kiss my-"_

_"That's enough." A mech jumped down from the remains of a stair case. Another Praxian; stark black and white plating, ice blue optics, and a bright vermillion chevron._

_Ricochet wanted him to run him over. Immediately. Repeatedly. Over and over, even as he begged for mercy._

_He was somewhat irked that he had such a similar colour scheme to his twin, however._

_"We're still in enemy territory, spare your bickering until we are safe." They continued, setting down their rifle against a section of wall. "Smokescreen, you're on lookout first. Wake Mirage next."_

_"Sure, sure." Smokescreen picked up his own gun and clambered up onto the staircase the monochrome mech had descended from._

_"Who am I waking up?" Mirage asked._

_"Trailbreaker, then me."_

_"Of course."_

_While the others tried to get comfy, many relying on leaning on each other, the black and white one stayed up, optics carefully glancing around. Ricochet edged closer when he heard the group's breathing settle, freezing when the beam he stepped onto cracked, tiny fragments showering down._

Shit _._

_The mech had grabbed their rifle and pointed it at him before he even had the chance to retreat. Sighing inwardly, he activated the weapon in his arm._

_Hopefully it wouldn't work._

_He pointed it back._

_"I wouldn't." They said in sync. Ricochet barely stopped his laughter as he hopped down, bracing himself for the recoil. "Wouldn't what? Shoot?" He asked. "You're the ones trespassing."_

_"Be that as it may, I still cannot allow you to continue to stalk us."_

_"Stalk? How rude. I simply followed the invaders."_

_"To test that tech in your arm?" He asked, his rifle twitching towards the active weapon._

_"Maybe. I wouldn't know."_

_"Meaning?"_

_"A poncey towers mech like yourself wouldn't understand."_

_He felt a cold presence behind him a split second before a hand came up to wrap around his throat, another hand snaking down towards the weapon. They flinched and briefly came into view as their fingers brushed the metal - too hot._ Good _. It was the posh twat.... Mirage?_

 _"_ I _am not a towers mech. However_ he _is."_

_"Then I don't care about doing this."_

_Ricochet pointed the weapon behind him and fired._

_The cold hands disappeared and he heard something fall to the floor beside him - he'd missed._ Damn _. The weapon whirred as something behind him exploded. He didn't bother turning to see what._

_Ricochet returned his aim to the Praxian._

_Damn it, he_ so _wanted to be crushed by his wheels._

_Ah, well. Bye bye Praxian._

_Ricochet fired again._

_The gun made a spluttering noise, and the next thing Ricochet knew he was being engulfed by flames and pain._

_Oh, how embarrassing._

_The rifle went off._

_More pain. Energon spurted out of his side, a major energon vessel having been hit. Ricochet stumbled backwards, attempting to catch himself on the wall when he realised his arm wasn't responding. He glanced at it to see it, and the weapon, where gone._

_Where the_ fuck _was his arm._

_Still on fire, Ricochet allowed himself to fall into the floor as he calmly began patting himself out. For once, he was glad Shockwave had given him an **upgrade**. Flame retardant energon. It was a bright, luminescent orange but it sure beat exploding when something toasty was nearby._

_"Are you okay?" The mech asked, a slightly worried look on his face._

_"Mech, I have had far worse happen to me."_

_"Uh... Your arm's... Up there..." He pointed up into the rafters._

_"Ah, thanks." He finished patting out the fire before jumping up and collecting it. He stayed up there as he saluted the mech. "Cheers, I got what I needed. What was your name?"_

_"... Prowl."_

_"Awesome, I'll find you again for a rematch, Prowlie."_

_And with that, he hopped away into Shockwaves loving embrace._

_Not._

_Ricochet choked as the hand around his neck tightened, metal denting and crushing his airway and fuel lines._

_"You failed to destroy them." Shockwave hissed, his face just inches from Ricochets own. He bit down the urge to spit on him._

_"The weapon exploded- I couldn't do anything-"_

_"Then you should have gotten them involved."_

_Ricochet didn't reply. Shockwave stared at him for a long moment before dropping him to the floor. "Put him in isolation."_

_Ricochet would have screamed in protest of he could._

xXx

_"That's a good pet."_

_Ricochet cringed at the memory. He would have clawed at himself and gnawed at his lips if he could, but as it was he couldn't move. He didn't have anything_ to _move. No sight, no sense of smell, no hearing, no sensation of any kind. Just himself and his memories in a little black box._

_Isolation was very lonely, especially when the only company was yourself._

It's your fault this happened.

_Two fingers were shoved down his throat, even as he gagged and threw up a little. They cooed at him, telling him he was a good pet, a pretty pet, but Ricochet only felt disgusting. He wanted them to stop._

_But he couldn't stop them._

_His hands were locked up tightly in stasis cuffs, and those were welded to the top of the berth. In an act of pure sexual perversion, they had yanked his legs out from underneath him and forced his aft up into the air, crudely welding his legs to the berth so he couldn't escape with ease._

_A clammy, revolting hand rubbed at his panel as they cooed in his audial, asking him to open up. Saying that he'd be gentle, promising it wasn't that bad, that it would be over soon. The hand became more and more insistent before they painfully dug into his leg joint and tweaked a bundle of wires, the panel snapping open._

_"That's a good pet," they cooed, "let me take care of you."_

_Ricochet would have bitten off their fingers if Shockwave hadn't taken out his teeth. Again._

_"_ Don't _." He rasped out around their fingers, "Please don't." He knew it would be fruitless, but he'd still try._

_"You're far too much of an opportunity to pass on."_

_"I don't want this."_

_"Oh, but I do."_

_Ricochet felt something hot and unyielding press against his valve, and he tensed. He knew tensing would make it worse, so much worse, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want this, he didn't he didn't he didn't_ he didn't-!

_"Relax," they purred to him, his voice and hands anything but relaxing. "It will feel better."_

_He didn't realise he was hyperventilating until his head thunked down onto the berth, his legs like jelly and his vision spinning. The fingers slid out of his mouth, coated in fluid, and the hot pressure on his valve began to push forwards-_

_Coolant splashed down on the inside of his visor. He was glad they couldn't see his face, glad he couldn't see their face._

_It hurt._ It hurt ** _._** _His valve had never ever been used before - he had zero interest in /any of this stuff, and this mech... This mech had seen fit to_ fix _him as though he were broken._

_He wasn't. Not in this way._

_Something began running down his leg, dripping from his array, and he realised that he was bleeding when he noticed it was fluorescent orange. Hmm, so there really weren't teeth down there. A shame._

_He nearly screamed when they slammed into the end of his valve, almost certain that they had dented him. They were making disgusting noises of pleasure, their slimy hands gripping tightly into his hips as they drew back and rammed back in again._

_"See? It is nice. I knew you'd enjoy it, pet, I knew." They leaned forwards and covered Ricochets body with their own, grinding themselves against him as they bit down into his neck and his shoulder, licking over the dents with their muggy breath condensing on Ricochets armour._

_It was somewhat tolerable, but hardly pleasurable. It was better than the scrape of their spike, the unbearable stretch to accommodate it, but pit it still really, really hurt. The energon pooling between his knees was testament to that._

_"Ooh, pet, you feel amazing pet, please pet, please oh please pet let me in."_

_And then Ricochet realised he was scrabbling against the panel just above his valve._

Absolutely not ** _._**

_"No."_

_Luckily for him, there were no overrides. No wires to tweak, no hidden buttons. No, it was entirely up to him. And he said no._

_"Pet I am giving you what you need, give me what I need."_

_"No."_

_The hand on his hip tightened considerably. "Pet." They said in a warning tone._

_"No."_

_"Fine then." They purred, returning to their brutal slamming. If it wasn't before, his valve was definitely denting now, and Ricochet was pretty sure he felt something rip. His gums did nothing for keeping his screams in, his lips wet with regurgitated energon and oral fluids. Coolant still pooled in his visor, splashing out onto the berth to join the other fluids that marred it._

_The spike inside him swelled and suddenly it was pulled out. Were they going to overload over his back? He hoped they were, he didn't want to see. He didn't want to know._

_Tough luck._

_His legs were ripped up from the berth, the welds ripping away parts of his plating, and then his wrists freed from the cuffs. If he wasn't feeling like absolute shit from the torture and energon loss Ricochet would have easily broken free, but as it was his head still spun and he couldn't see-_

_He was slammed into his back, and as his mouth opened wide in a shocked gasp he felt the other mechs spike ram in. He gagged hard, his body desperate to throw up but the spike ramming into his throat stopping him._

_Ricochet saw who was doing this. Their face burned into his memory, his resolve hardened._

_He'd kill them._

_He would be repaired, and then he'd kill them._

_If he had to hunt them down he would. He would do anything._

_That bastard Vortex._

xXx

_"Hello, pet." They had purred when Ricochet left the medical bay. Soundwave glanced over at the two, visor narrowing slightly. He knew something had happened between them._

_Ricochet didn't reply and simply continued on towards Shockwaves lab. He wanted to see him as soon as he was released, and like pit was he going to let Vortex get in his way. Not again. Never again._

_"Aw, pet, don't be like that-" he grabbed Ricochets arm._

_He lost his arm._

_In a single moment Ricochet had activated the energon blade medical had installed in his arm and viciously swung it into Vortex's, effectively hacking it off in one swoop._

_"Ooh, pet, you are feisty today."_

_"Don't come near me." He snarled at him before turning and storming away. Soundwave tutted at Vortex as he passed, Ravage barely sparing him a glance._

_Ooh, damn, Vortex thought as he picked up his arm. Was he in trouble?_

_As it turned out, he was in_ lots _of trouble, but mainly with his gestalt team._

_"What did we say about this?" Onslaught snapped. "You weren't to touch the slaves."_

_"He was asking for it." Vortex snidely replied._

_"Nobody asks for you." Blast off shot back._

_"How rude. He did."_

_"I'm sure he did." Onslaught replied, standing to his full height and looming over the helicopter. "Which is why Shockwave is demanding repayment for his repair, and is demanding an explanation?"_

_Vortex shrugged him off. "I just wanted a good time." He replied, heading towards the exit. He wanted to go stalk the little slave some more._

_"And you're about to have a bad one." Brawl blocked the exit._

_Vortex gulped._

* * *

Prowl hobbled over to his filing cabinet and began rifling through his files, going back thousands of vorns. He was looking for a very particular one, one that he had never submitted. A private one for personal use – one he was planning on investigating at a later date. He had never gotten round to it, what with his promotion within the tactical department demanding more of his time. He just simply wouldn’t have the time to investigate it to his liking.

And so he had completely forgotten about it. Uncharacteristic now, yes, but that was before his battle computer glitched. Now, his battle computer didn’t let him forget much.

Something was bothering him. Something about Ricochet was horribly familiar – _Prowlie_. He’d heard it directed at him before… somewhere. He knew he had been referred to it condescendingly by other Autobots but it was never, ever, to his face, and it hadn’t been an Autobot who had said it first.

He found the battered datapad and onlined it, hastily typing in the old passcode he used to use when he was younger. It was a slow datapad, and that only betrayed its age.

Sitting down into his chair, he waited for the file to load.

There, first line – _Orange visor_. There weren’t many around with an orange visor – yellow, red, blue, green, even _purple_ – they were common. Orange was the colour of Shockwave and it quickly fell out of fashion when his… _experiments_ came to light. Only those associated with him leaned towards the orange colouration.

And there, scrawled underneath, were even stranger words. _Orange Energon_. Prowl hadn’t heard or seen of that since. When he had asked Ratchet – and now he clearly remembered as he traced a wrench-shaped dent in the datapad, he had been decked and scolded for asking stupid questions. _Of course all energon is blue_ , the mech had snapped at him. _You need more recharge. Are you recharging enough? Don’t lie, I can tell._

Prowl shook his head and scrolled through the rest of the notes, committing them to memory. It looked as though his investigation would be opening up again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, too, would like Prowl to run me over.


	6. Chapter six

Sorry my updating is so dotty, there’s an explanation of it on my [tumblr](http://silenceofthe-llamas.tumblr.com/) for anyone who cares to look! Without further ado; enjoy!

* * *

 

Jazz watched as Ratchet shoved the needle into his arm. While a few groons ago he would have cringed, kicked his feet, and refused to look, he'd now become numb to it. The painkiller felt cold as it oozed in.

"This is the last we have." Ratchet informed him.

Jazz felt sick.

"When are ya gunna do it? Isolate him." Jazz asked.

"As soon as the new stock comes in. Preceptors still running his tests, we may as well wait rather than rush him. We don't want you pulling a Prowl."

"Wha' actually happened?"

"To Prowl?" Ratchet scratched his hand absently. "You'll have to ask him, confidential."

"Isn't there anythin' ya can tell me?"

"Only that it went horribly wrong."

"Tha' jus' fills me with confidence." Jazz sarcastically replied.

"It's what happens when things get rushed. The chief of tactical thought himself above the medics, and so his experiments went through despite our protest." Ratchet sighed and scrubbed at his face. "I'm not telling you any more. It's not important, you're too young to have been here for it anyway."

"Fair enough. I'll just ask Prowl." Jazz made to jump down from the berth, but Ratchet promptly stopped him.

"No. You are _staying_." He knew it was pointless - Jazz _always_ bloody left - but it never hurt to say. Let him know his next check up will be hell.

"But-!"

"No. No, I don't want to hear it. I don't want the excuses." Ratchet cut him off. "Stay, for once just _stay_."

Jazz sunk back down into the berth.

"And say that to the other guy too. I'm not afraid to smack him."

_I'm_ _sure ya ain't._

Ratchet left Jazz's room, locking the door for good measure, and walked through the medical bay with the intention of going into his office when he spotted First Aid looking very, very uncomfortable and looking rapidly between datapads.

"First Aid?" He asked, walking up to him. The other mech jumped and turned to face Ratchet.

"I- Sir, I noticed some discrepancies in his charts..." First Aid pulled the datapad on the far left up. "Here is his average spark reading during his last medical before he was captured by Shockwave." He put it back down again and swept his hands over the others laid down on the side. "And all of these are the averages taken once every few cycles. They're getting closer and closer to what we'd expect from a Carrying mech, but at triple the pace. Very soon he'll have the equivalent of two fully formed sparks."

Ratchet slowly nodded. How could he have missed this?! "You have a very sharp eye. What do you suggest we do?" Ratchet knew precisely what they had to do, but it never hurt to test his student at every opportunity.

"We need to isolate the excess and separate it." He replied, "His body won't be able to tolerate it."

Ah, he had taught him well.

"We'd best start finding the best way to do that then."

* * *

 

Jazz rubbed over his spark casing.

He recognised this feeling, but he hadn't felt it in _vorns_...

_It's me again isn't it_. Ricochet gently asked. It was unusual of him.

"You seem awfully calm."

" _I_ _can feel my spark again."_

Jazz winced. Ah, yes. The isolation.

"Should Ah tell them about... Us?"

" _They won't kill me will they_?"

"Autobots don't kill the innocent."

" _I am not innocent_."

"In their eyes ya are."

" _Why do you trust them so much?”_

“How could I not?”

“ _I think they’re a bunch of fools.”_

“They didn’t reject me when I turned up.”

Ricochet fell silent, and every so often Jazz felt his spark vibrate. Ricochet was slowly regaining control over his own, nestled into the side of its twins. Jazz rubbed his chest again at the weird feeling. Now came the explaining part. It had never come up - he didn't think it would ever ever come back to bite him in the ass - and Ratchet didn't know. They'd already hidden things from him - he was going to be so furious and angry and _betrayed_. An upset Ratchet was a heart breaking one. Even if Ricochet didn’t want them to know, Jazz knew that the truth was going to come to light eventually and it was better to break it to them now rather than Shockwave gloat about it later.

Jazz lay back and offlined his visor, painkiller still oozing into him.

He onlined it into a strange room. Faint scratches marred the wall, rust creeping in. A purple mech was stood in the corner, back facing him.

"Hello, Jazz." They began, turning around with a tray full of equipment. "My name is Shockwave. You will be staying with me from now on."

Jazz couldn't reply, he couldn't even move. His spark started racing, his helm pounding-

"Now, you have a rather odd condition, don't you?" Shockwave continued, setting the tray down. "Your spark is twice the size it should be, isn't that right little one? I'm going to fix that for you. Do they have a name?"

"Ricochet." Jazz found himself saying.

"Ah, Ricochet. Well, very soon you'll have a physical twin."

Jazz felt phantom twists of excitement, and with a horrible sinking feeling he realised he was regurgitating an old memory.

The excitement wasn't to last.

It was excruciating, feeling his spark being split into two, his spark chamber being mauled and cracked and dented in the process.

First extraction was a failure. Jazz nearly died. Ricochet died.

On the second extraction, he did die. Twice. But Shockwave was having none of that; he simply restarted the spark and tried again. It was only an unrecognisable blue mech who stopped him from doing it a third time. Ricochet died.

On the third attempt, Shockwave had realised that Jazz had _two_ core chips in his processor. He removed one to test which belonged to who as he split the spark. He picked the wrong chip. Jazz died again, as did Ricochet.

On the forth and final attempt, he got it right. No one died. Ricochet finally survived.

He lasted all of ten cycles before Shockwave managed to kill him again. The chip was dutifully placed back inside Jazz's helm, and his spark began to swell again.

Shockwave realised that he had a unique and incredibly valuable test subject right in his hands.

_"J-z?"_

Jazz shook his head.

_"Ja-?"_

He felt someone touch his arm, their hands cold like ice.

_"Jazz?"_

His covered optics met with Prowls. The mech was leaning over him, one hand on each shoulder. The needle administering the pain medication had been ripped out, the contents of the pack happily dripping onto the floor.

"Are you okay?" Prowl asked, slowly letting go of him.

"Ah..." Jazz's vents inadvertently hiccuped and he absently wiped the coolant that had pooled in his optics away. "Ah think so."

"You were thrashing." Prowl replied, perching on the chair next to the berth. "Ratchet told me to check on you."

"It was just a memory."

"Okay." Prowl nodded, and looked down at the floor. "I need to speak with Ricochet."

"Huh?" Jazz balked.

"He's my only lead on something I'm investigating. I believe we have met before."

"Then that means we met before too." Jazz argued. "An' Ah'm pretty sure we met when Ah joined."

"That is true, however I cannot let this trail grow any colder."

Jazz harshly bit his lip and looked away from Prowl. _Damn it._ His visor flickered offline briefly before turning orange, Ricochet gladly accepting the invitation.

"Prowlie~!" He happily greeted, reaching out and rubbing his hand down his cheek. "Ah've missed ya."

"Your accent." Prowl frowned.

"Oh, don’t be such a prude. Wha’ was it you wanted?"

"We've met before haven't we." Prowl bluntly said. "A red and black mech with an orange visor... Those are my notes. His name was also Ricochet."

"Here Ah was thinking you'd forgotten me."

"Don't get me wrong, I have. I'm simply trying to find out more about you."

"Out of interest?"

"To help Jazz."

"Fine. We have met before, and Ah was sent to kill your group. Ah failed, obviously."

"What else is there?" Prowl asked. "It was Shockwaves base."

Ricochet hummed and placed his finger on his chin. "Ah don't know... Why should Ah tell you?"

"Because I am important." Prowl replied. "From other reports I've gathered that you were more than capable of killing me and my crew with just one arm, and yet you didn't. There is a reason for that."

Ricochet looked away. "Not a major reason."

"What is it then?"

"To be honest Ah'd rather tell you about Shockwave than why Ah didn't kill you."

"Then tell me."

"Ah was an experimental twin - Ah'm sure you've heard about his twin study - and Jazz was the other one he kept safe and sound inside. We had been put onto the fighter route rather than the purely experimental one."

"How long had you been with him for?"

"Since Ah separated."

"Why the orange energon?" Prowl asked the burning question.

"It meant Ah didn't explode when Ah caught fire. As far as Ah know Ah'm the only one to have had it and survived."

Ha! Take that, Ratchet!

Prowl nodded and committed the conversation to memory. He had some other theories, but he wasn't going to voice them with Ricochet.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Ricochet grinned at him. "Ah have more information if you ask the right questions."

"I'll get back to you on those."

Ricochet slowly dimmed his visor until it was completely offline. Jazz's body swayed slightly before falling backwards into the berth, the mech offline.

"Jazz?" Prowl stumbled towards him. He'd needed to speak to Jazz, too. Not about Ricochet, not about anything to do with Shockwave. He just wanted to talk to _him_.

Prowl felt he should have done that first.

Jazz didn't stir.

"I'm sorry." Prowl quietly said, squeezing Jazz's hand before leaving. The visor slowly onlined to orange and Ricochet looked up to see Prowl closing the door behind him.

* * *

 

Prowl sat at his desk and typed in the new information. He mulled over it for a few moments before sighing as he realised it all called for one thing; a visit to Cybertron. Prime would _never_ allow a mission to simply satisfy Prowls curiosity - there had to be a legitimate reason. Why? The only functioning space bridge was controlled by the Decepticons, and it went straight into Shockwaves lab. It was perfect for searching more about Ricochet - and just why Jazz was chosen to carry him - but that alone wouldn't justify the trip.

But the Intel that just got dumped on his desk by a disheveled Bumblebee just might.

The Decepticons were planning another supply run to Cybertron. It would be the perfect opportunity to step in and stop it, thus cutting off Shockwave, and was also the perfect opportunity to send Mirage in through the bridge and do some snooping for him.

Prowl logged into his console and began typing away, planning his next move. First things first, the Primes approval. He would have to be careful about this - his wording would have to be exact.

A few joors later, Prowl had a basic plan. It wouldn't be anything close to what he would have wanted to submit, oh no, he simply needed to get the framework down and approved by the Prime before he went any further. He forwarded it to his Primes console.

While he waited for a response, he trundled through his other datapads (Ratchet had begrudgingly accepted Prowl was going to do work while he healed) and sorted any incoming files according to their status and department. Any complete reports were placed with their corresponding reports and stored away in his archive.

His hand hovered over the stereo.

Did he want to press play?

...

He tentatively pressed the button.

The last time he had listened to the stereo... Prowl shuddered and tried to get on with his work. Ricochet seemed to be... Docile, today. It was strange and weird and scarier than his usual temperament. Prowl wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Should I come back later?"

Bluestreak stood in the doorway, peering in with two cubes of energon. Prowl waved him in.

"A distraction would be welcome."

Bluestreak came in and handed his brother a cube of energon. "What's up?" He said. "Somethings wrong, it's all on your face. You do this thing you know, you couldn't tell if you didn't know you but your optics scrunch up slightly like you've got a headache - oh you haven't got a headache have you please say you haven't got a headache that's not good! Is the music too loud? Since when did you have music?"

"I haven't got a headache," Prowl assured him, "and I'm just thinking about something on a datapad. Classified. The stereo was a gift from Jazz." He tagged on as an afterthought.

"So not for me to know." Bluestreak replied. "Seems fair I mean I'd probably blab it to someone by accident thinking it was juicy gossip when really it's top secret classified information."

"It sounds like something you'd do." Prowl broke the seal on his cube and began drinking. "You're later than unusual. Anything happen?"

Bluestreak suddenly seemed to be incredibly interested in his cube. Prowl raised an eyebrow at him. "Hmm?"

"Sunstreaker and I... Had a little argument. Nothing major I promise he didn't hurt me!" Bluestreak was quick to say, "He wouldn't. But... Yeah. Sorry I was late I know you like order and patterns and-"

"I don't mind that you're late." Prowl assured him, "I just wanted to be sure that you were okay."

"I'm fine." Bluestreak forced a smile and took a swig of his energon. "Totally completely fine!"

"So long as you're sure."

The two idly chatted away as they fuelled, Bluestreak excusing himself as soon as he was done. While Prowl got back to his datapads, stereo happily playing music, Bluestreak leaned against the closed door and sagged.

He wasn't fine, but his brother had enough on his plate as it was. He wasn't going to pile more on because he got into a fight with his best friend.

Was best friend even the right word for what they were? Or had been?

_Just go, Bluestreak_.

Sighing, he went back to his quarters. He figured he'd just sleep this off. No one would notice he wasn't in the rec room like usual, right?

In the hallway just before his quarters, however, he heard the chirpy and upbeat voice of Sideswipe.

Noooooope.

Backpedal backpedal backpedal-!

Damn it. Well Sideswipe was popular he had many friends so it wasn't unusual it was to be expected, right? Right? He had trouble convincing himself, considering he was very very close to his quarters.

Perhaps the shooting range instead? Nobody was usually there at this shift rotation. It was usually an early morning-late night kind of activity, and was only really used at all hours when they had new recruits in to train, or when they were currently engaged in a battle or military operation, whatever Prowl wanted to call it.

It was deserted. Grinning to himself, he happily skipped in, selected a rifle from the wall, grabbed a box of bullets, and began to enjoy himself. He didn't indulge himself like this often - some people found it a bit weird that he enjoyed sniping so much given his gentle personality, but sometimes he just didn't give a single shit and released bullet after bullet after bullet. Reloading the thing was child's play, and if that made people uncomfortable then that was their problem and not his.

He didn't notice when others came in to practice their shooting. He didn't notice them leave, or the way they stared at him. He simply continued to shoot.

"Bluestreak?"

Bluestreak paused, finger twitching on the trigger. Sideswipe had managed to sneak up on him, a concerned look briefly flashing on his face. "You okay?"

Seamlessly, Bluestreak turned on the safety and pointed the gun at the floor. "I'm fine." He replied.

"You've destroyed almost all of the targets." Sideswipe pointed out.

"I suppose I got a little carried away. I haven't been here in a while."

"Hmm, yeah, okay." Sideswipe replied, clearly not buying it. "People were wondering where you were, you didn't come to game night."

Oh, shoot, it _was_ game night!

"I didn't really feel like company." Bluestreak admitted. "I'm gunna go recharge now anyway thanks for stopping by it was good to talk to you."

"Okay." Sideswipe reluctantly replied, stepping aside to let Bluestreak pass. "Recharge well, yeah?"

"I will!"

Sideswipe didn’t believe a word of that. Bull _shit_ was he fine, there was something up and he suspected that his marvelous twin was involved. He watched Bluestreak put the rifle back and leave before contacting his twin.

::What’s up with Blue?:: He commed him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall as he waited for a reply.

::Beats me:: Sunstreaker replied. ::I haven’t seen him in a while::

::I felt the hesitation there:: Sideswipe prodded. ::Fess up::

::I haven’t seen him in hours! How do you know it was me?::

::It usually is! No one else has seen him since this morning, Sunny::

::Doesn’t change that I don’t know. Can I get back to what I was doing, please?::

Sideswipe dropped the comm. His twin was stubborn as ever, always refusing to see that he had fucked up. It pained him to admit that he was very much the same, but at least he knew how to apologise!

Sideswipe pushed himself off the wall and folded his hands behind his head, lumbering towards nowhere in particular.

* * *

 

Bluestreak didn’t go to his quarters.

He felt so, so very lost at that moment in time. He couldn’t talk to Prowl about it – he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t give advice that would _help_ , either. He was great at listening, but ever since the… accident, Bluestreak could see him calculating chances and crunching numbers in his head, turning his words into a mathematical formula. Not everything had to be about maths and numbers. Not everything had to follow logic. His brother had a hard time understanding that, now, even if he insisted he could.

But Jazz would understand. He always did.

Bluestreak peered in through the door, his spark rising in delight when he saw that the medbay lights were off. Slipping inside, he crept towards the room where Jazz was (he’d watched enough security footage of people entering and exiting to know which side of the medbay it was on thanks to his punishment shifts with Red Alert) and gently pushed the door open.

It was unlocked.

Thinking nothing of it, he crept in and slowly shut the door behind him and sunk down into the seat by the berth. In the dim light, he looked closely at the lump and-

It wasn’t Jazz.

It was a pile of pillows hastily tucked in under the thin mesh blanket.

Jumping to his feet, Bluestreak was about to run out of the room when he felt a hand wrap around his ankle and drag him down to the floor. He fell with a bang, his shout muffled by the hand that flew to his mouth.

“ _Blue?!”_

Bluestreak pushed the hand off from his mouth and gasped for breath. “Jazz?!”

“Ah’m so sorry!” Jazz immediately released him and scrambled backwards, almost scraping his audials against the bottom of the berth. “Ah didn’t think it was ya.”

“Who were you expecting?” Bluestreak adjusted himself to be sitting up, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Ah’m not sure. Did Ah get ya doorwings?”

“Nah, they’re okay. Why’re you under the berth?”

Jazz shrugged. “Comfy. Been staring at these walls for too long, need a change a scenery.”

Bluestreak muffled a laugh behind his hand. Typical Jazz.

“So,” Jazz crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees like an eager child, “What brings ya here?”

“I just wanted to see you.” Bluestreak replied. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Hopefully Ah wont be here for long!” Jazz cheerfully replied, but Bluestreak could tell it was forced. Jazz wouldn’t be out of there any time soon, and he knew it.

“Can I ask you something?” Bluestreak asked, looking down at his lap and doorwings drooping.

“Sure thing.” Jazz chirped, optics locked onto the sagging doorwings. Something had upset Bluestreak.

“What would you do if someone you were close to hurt you?”

Jazz hummed. He wasn’t entirely sure – what had he been doing with Prowl?

… He still tried. Despite how Prowl was hurting him. Jazz’s humming suddenly cut off when he realized that. Prowl had hurt him, even if he didn’t mean to.

“Ah…” Jazz tapped his knees in a tune and thought about what he’d done with Prowl. “Ah’d still try.” Jazz slowly continued, “Even if it hurts more ta be near them, Ah’ll still try ta talk ta them.”

“So I just act as if nothing happened?”

“No.” Jazz fixed Bluestreak with a hard look. “Never let them think that it was okay. Don’t let them think they don’t have to apologize, and don’t let them think ya have to accept their apology.”

“Thanks, Jazz.” Bluestreak hugged his legs to his chest and smiled into his knees. Jazz’s advice helped settle his nerves – he was right to come here. Prowl would just stress him out by insisting Sunstreaker had done something awful and not believing him.

“Who’s this about then?” Jazz asked. “No one hurts ma baby an’ gets away with it!”

Bluestreak snorted with laughter. “Jazz!” He whined. “It’s just Sunny-“

“He didn’t hit you, did he?” Jazz asked dangerously. Bluestreak swore he saw a flash of orange in his visor and he felt his spark seize.

“No! Why does everyone think he’s like that?!” Bluestreak sprung out of his ball. “He wouldn’t ever lay a finger on me!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jazz lifted his hands placatingly, “Ah’m just so used ta givin’ him punishment details for fighting and using excessive force. Kinda just sticks.”

“It’s irritating.” Bluestreak huffed. “We only got into an argument.”

“What about?” Jazz asked, tucking his hands under his aft so he was sat on them.

“It’s…” Bluestreak curled back up into a ball to hide his face, “kinda embarrassing.”

“Ya don’t have ta tell me.”

“I just wanted to know what I meant to him.” Bluestreak quietly said, and Jazz’s audials twitched as he heard those words.

Same boat, little Blue.

“Ah know how that feels.” Jazz replied. “He’ll come around eventually.”

“Jazz?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Prowl will ever come around?”

“Uh- what?”

“With you.”

Jazz could feel his face beginning to burn. “Wha’ do ya mean?”

Bluestreaks doorwings shot up. “Oh, Primus, you haven’t noticed either! Ignore me! I said nothing!”

“Nooo!” Jazz whined, leaning towards him and placing his hands either side of Bluestreak, “Tell meeee!”

“No, no!” Bluestreak laughed, “Prowl will probably kill me. He thinks stuff like this is _illogical_.” Bluestreak mimicked his older brother and made bunny ears with his hands. “Has _no place in this war_.”

“That sounds like him.” Jazz replied mutedly as he shifted away from Bluestreak. “Can Ah ask ya something?” Jazz rubbed at his chest.

Bluestreak felt his optics widen.

“Is something wrong with your spark?”

“Ah’m not sure how ta explain it.” Jazz replied. “If it were anyone else, it’d be a problem, but it’s not so much of a big deal for me.”

Bluestreak wasn’t sure if he understood. Did Jazz think he was less important?

“No, it is a big deal!” Bluestreak insisted. “Do you need Ratchet?”

“I’m not sure if I should tell anyone.” Jazz’s hand clenched over his chest, right over where his spark was hammering against his plating. “I don’t want them to hurt him.”

“Jazz… are you sparked?” Bluestreak quietly asked.

Jazz immediately spluttered in shock. Oh, damn, he was acting like he was!

“ _Ah’m ya lil’ sparkling, Jazzy!”_

“N-no!” Jazz insisted despite how his face burned. “Ah’m not!”

“They didn’t do anything to you when they captured you, did they?” Bluestreak asked, suddenly serious as his hand twitched towards where his rifle holster would be had he been wearing it.

“Blue, honest, they didn’t do anythin’ like that ta me.” Jazz placed his hands over Bluestreak’s. “Ah really don’t know how ta explain this, but Ah’m honestly fine.”

“But your spark…”

Jazz waved it off. “Somethin’ Ah was born with. It’s flarin’ up, though, an’ Ah’m not sure if Ah should tell Ratchet.”

“Jazz,” Bluestreak closed his hands around Jazz’s, “You don’t need to hide anything from me. While Sides was in here he saw you were up to something, and Prowl’s already let a little slip.”

“He has? But he’s a tight fisted old fuck when it comes to classified information!”

“His body language gave him away.” Bluestreak swiftly replied.

“Go figure. Fine – but don’t ya go tellin’ Prowl Ah told ya!” Jazz tapped him on the nose. “An’ this honestly has ta stay between us. The twins Ah’ll allow if ya really, really can’t hold it in, but anyone else? Prowl will definitely do somethin’ about it.”

Bluestreak nodded eagerly. “I promise!”

“This, in my chest,” Jazz tapped his chest plates, “Is my twin. It’s startin’ ta feel a lil’ tight in there, but it’s not gunna kill me. Just unpleasant.”

Bluestreak stared at him for a moment.

“Your…. Twin?”

“Yup.” Jazz popped the p. “Sounds weird, but Ah was just born this way.”

“Have… they always been in there?”

“They were when Ah was younger. Then he got taken out for a lil’ bit. My old doctor put him back in again for funsies.” Jazz felt his skin crawl at referring to Shockwave as his doctor, but what else could he do? He wasn’t going to traumatize Bluestreak or spill his sob story to him.

But Bluestreak could tell Jazz was keeping things from him. Given that Jazz was the third in command, however, he guessed that Jazz was doing it for his own good and it was best to not press the issue too hard.

“So, you’re worried that Ratchet will hurt him?” Bluestreak asked.

“He is, Ah trust him though.”

“He as in your twin?”

Jazz nodded. Bluestreak gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure he wont do anything to hurt him!”

“Are you sure about that?” Ratchet said. The pair under the bed shared a terrified look as they jumped so hard they smacked into the bottom of the berth, Jazz cursing loudly and meekly crawling out to look up at Ratchet.

“Ah didn’t leave!”

“I can see that.” He sharply snapped. “Bluestreak, out you get. I know you’re there.”

The sniper meekly crawled out behind Jazz, trying his best to hide behind his superior.

“H-Hi, Ratchet!”

“What are you doing here?” He demanded. Bluestreak glanced at Jazz.

“I was just seeing Jazz.”

“You’re not even cleared to be here.” Ratchet hauled him up from the floor, letting Jazz gingerly get to his own feet. “You broke through a locked door to get in!”

“What? The door was open!” Bluestreak insisted.

Ratchet fixed Jazz with an accusing glare.

“Don’t look at me, I’ve been under the berth the whole time.”

Ratchet released Bluestreak as he swore. “You’d better not be lying to me, you two.” The two quickly shook their heads, Bluestreak looking very, very worried.

“Is it a bad thing it was unlocked?” He quietly asked.

“Yes.” Ratchet replied, “A very bad thing. Only Officers are cleared to be able to unlock this door.”

“So an Officer unlocked this door, so what?” Jazz scoffed. “Big deal. They could have popped in to see me, found me asleep, and then forgot to lock the door again after.”

“The door is set to automatically lock.” Ratchet explained with an air of exasperation. “If it wasn’t locked despite being closed, someone has messed with the controls.”

The door behind them beeped. The three whacked around to look at the door, a red light happily blinking away at them. Ratchet sighed and walked over, placing his hand on the panel and pushing the door to open it.

The red light flashed at him and the door gave a low beep.

Ratchet frowned and tried again.

The door didn’t budge.

“It’s locked us in.” Ratchet said with an air of disbelief. He turned to look at the other two occupants. “Can either of you access your comms?”

Jazz was met with static, as was Bluestreak. The two desperately looked at Ratchet, who looked just as lost as they did.

“What the hell is going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels so weird looking back at the stuff I’d written while I was still in college. Even weirder seeing that it was two years ago, too! It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long!  
> But a tl;dr for people who don’t wanna go on my tumblr; I’m ill, and no one seems to know what is wrong with me. Fluoxetine is also the devil.


End file.
